


In Your Eyes

by angelucy



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Endgame 铁羊铁, Exhibitionism, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, Kun suffers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Rimming, Switching, Unrequited Love, WayV being supportive, fuck buddies, plot if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25563607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelucy/pseuds/angelucy
Summary: Yangyang hadn't hoped for much when he confessed, but this - the evasion, the anger, the breakdown of their friendship - wasn't what he wanted. He and Xiaojun hadn't made eye contact in weeks. He supposed that was the burden of his unrequited love.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Liu Yang Yang, Liu Yang Yang/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 22
Kudos: 173





	In Your Eyes

Yangyang’s only impression of the shower was that it’d be big enough for two. 

The hotel was nice this time around, but not the kind of nice that could impress the likes of Yangyang. He’d had enough of Egyptian cotton on king beds and night views from fifty floors up. There was very little that made him ooh and ahh these days, though he’d go through the motions because that was his role as the maknae. It wasn’t like him to be this jaded, but these were exceptional circumstances. 

He gritted his teeth and let the ice water flay his skin. He could never stand cold showers, but the situation was dire. So far, it wasn’t doing much for his unfortunate physiologic response, which had come at an inconvenient and distressing time. He had fled the scene with his coat over the front of his pants, praying that no fans would catch him hobbling down a busy commercial street with a raging hard-on. The two blocks back to the hotel were agony. 

Dinner was a disaster. It might have been easier if he was the crying type. He could have his dramatic catharsis and move on. There was no happy ending with Xiaojun, but he got his hopes up anyways. Why hope? It was willfully blind of him, even degenerate. And now he was stuck alone, staring at his half-hard cock in a shower built for two, wondering if he was some sort of masochist. 

He couldn’t help it. Xiaojun’s eyes were cold, flinty, and incredibly beautiful. Besides playing nice for the camera, it was the first time they’d made eye contact in weeks.

He palmed his wilting cock and immediately felt pathetic. 

Earlier that night, WayV had been celebrating a series of successful fan meets with a round of hot pot. After much wheedling and cajoling, the managers had finally agreed to an unsupervised meal. As much as they loved their team, they needed some time to themselves, just the seven of them. Manager G even presented Kun with a bottle of champagne. 

Yangyang griped, “A bottle between the seven of us? That’s nothing!” 

Kun shot him a stern look and pinched him under the table. “We can't get too carried away. Early flight back to Korea tomorrow, remember?” He flashed Manager G his signature smile, pleasant and demure, wholly unlike the ogre Yangyang knew him to be. “Thank you 经纪人哥哥。” Yangyang scoffed. What a two-faced snake. 

The air was thick with the redolence of chili oil and Sichuan pepper. Some might have considered it a waste to neglect Thai cuisine for hotpot when it was their last day in Bangkok, but they called themselves the hotpot representatives for a reason. The familiar smell of hotpot was comforting, recalling better days when he and Xiaojun were still on a talking basis. 

Yangyang’s mouth was tacky with the dry, unpleasant aftertaste of mediocre champagne. He hated the taste of alcohol, hated the bitter burn of it sliding down his throat. But he was grateful for the buzz. From behind his raised glass, he could stare at Xiaojun all he wanted. Part of him wanted to get caught.

Xiaojun’s pretty face was dusted pink from the alcohol. With his delicate lips swollen red from hot pot grease, and his eyelids at half mast, Xiaojun looked far too sensual for the dinner table. Hendery had cracked some stupid joke, and Xiaojun laughed so hard that he slumped over onto Hendery’s shoulder like a ragdoll. Yangyang wanted to smack the goofy smile off Hendery’s face and tell him to keep his hands to himself, even if it was Xiaojun who had initiated that infuriating bodily contact. Even Xiaojun’s drunken laugh was pretty. Yangyang couldn’t remember the last time Xiaojun had smiled like that for him. 

There was no sense in drinking without getting drunk, Yangyang thought. Maybe if he could drink until he blacked out, Xiaojun’s words would stop playing in his mind on repeat. Xiaojun’s tone was what had hit him the hardest, not the bewildering assumptions, or even the rejection itself. Xiaojun had sounded apologetic, like he was talking to a child. Perhaps that’s how Xiaojun saw him, as a child, not a man. The idea of drunken oblivion had been presented to him, and Yangyang was struck with the impotent desire to get completely soused. 

“You know what I’m looking forward to? I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed,” said Winwin. He took a worried glance at Xiaojun, who in his unsteady separation from Hendery’s shoulder seemed destined to fall face forward into the hotpot. Winwin quietly re-arranged Xiaojun’s forearms to create a pillow for his lolling head. 

“Our shitty dorm beds?” Lucas said, his voice booming. With his hands propped up behind his head and his chair tipped back on two legs, he was the picture of insouciance. “You have such low expectations. I could live in hotels for the rest of my life.” 

Ten smirked. “That’s only because you need someone to clean up after you.” 

Lucas cried out indignantly, and soon their table was in uproarious debate over the state of their accommodations. Perhaps they’d been marinating in a hot room for too long and were emboldened by the alcohol because the conversation inevitably took a turn for the sexual. Yangyang, being a nineteen-year-old boy, couldn’t help his curiosity. Lucas’s sordid conquest stories were of huge interest to him, especially since he had little experience of his own. Innumerable women in the company – idols, makeup artists, even the occasional wayside manager – had fallen victim to Lucas’s charms. 

“…and in the end, she still had no clue about that other noona,” Lucas said. 

“Meet Lucas everybody, the enemy of all women,” said Yangyang. 

Lucas grinned. “The ladies love bad boys.” 

“What a shame. Share some of that popularity with the rest of us, why don’t you?” Hendery said. Once again, their table fell into childish bickering, and their voices rose over one another’s in waves. 

Xiaojun had been quiet all night, unusually so. From the corner of Yangyang’s eye, he saw Xiaojun raise his head from his arms, and dart a mesmerizing pink tongue across his lower lip. 

Xiaojun cleared his throat, cutting through the ruckus. He stammered, “Hey guys, do you remember that pretty noona, the one we met on that variety show?” 

Yangyang’s heart sunk. 

“All the idol noonas we meet on variety shows are pretty, 铁块。” Winwin patted Xiaojun’s arm patiently. 

Xiaojun slapped the table and whined, “The one with the really long legs, alright? And the blonde hair.” He made waterfall motions with his hands, replicating the sashaying of her silky locks. Yangyang felt a growing lump in his throat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ten trying to grab his attention, but Yangyang was too busy boring holes into Xiaojun’s forehead to care. 

Even though Xiaojun received plenty of love letters, he’d stuck to his romantic ideals, turning down woman after woman because he hadn’t met ‘the one.’ In the back of his mind, Yangyang knew it had been foolish to bank on Xiaojun’s idealism, but he’d somehow expected that Xiaojun would stay with him forever. Yangyang clenched his fists over his knees, and his nails dug crescents into the soft flesh of his palms.

“Right,” said Lucas, his smile dreamy, “Who could forget those legs?” 

Xiaojun said, “Well, she texted me yesterday. She said I was really cute. And she said that when we get back to Korea, she’d love to meet me one on one. In her dorm.” 

In the midst of the ensuing cacophony, Ten gave Yangyang a concerned look and tried to reach for his arm, but Yangyang swatted him away. 

Lucas crowed, “Congratulations my man! You’ll be graduating soon. What a lucky dog. Tell us how it goes afterward, alright?”

The mixed peal of laughter was interrupted by the sound of glass slamming on the tabletop. 

“Let’s not be disgusting anymore, alright? Women aren’t objects.” Yangyang’s outburst sliced through the festive mood and an awkward chill descended upon them.

Xiaojun’s eyes met his. “Since when were you such a feminist?” The famed 四郎瞪 made his blood run cold. They were caught in a deadlock and neither of them was willing to back away first. Though Xiaojun’s flushed face betrayed his intoxication, his eyes were focused on Yangyang’s. It seemed as if Xiaojun’s gaze could pierce right through him. 

To Yangyang’s horror, he felt the front of his pants tighten. He tore his eyes away from Xiaojun’s. 

Yangyang’s chair scraped across the floor as he pushed himself away from the table. He casually slung his coat across his forearm and braced it against his stomach. “You know what? I think I’ve got a stomach-ache. You guys keep having fun. I’m calling it a night.” His heart hammered in his ears. He was afraid to take a glance back. He wasn’t sure how his face would betray him if he met Xiaojun’s eyes. Or worse, if Xiaojun’s eyes weren’t on him at all. 

Yangyang lay prone on his bed in a white bathrobe and played with his cellphone. Water droplets dripped down his hair and meandered down the slender column of his neck, before soaking his collar. Suddenly, he heard the mechanical whir of the door. A smiling Ten sauntered in, a narrow paper bag cradled in his arms. 

Ten gently threw his purchase onto the empty queen next to Yangyang’s, and the door clicked shut behind him. Without warning, Ten jumped onto Yangyang’s bed and flopped down beside him. “How’s that stomach-ache?” Ten said, his English lilting. 

“Don’t sit on my bed with dirty clothes,” Yangyang said, his voice bristling with irritation. Normally, he’d send a flying kick Ten’s way and chase him around for violating the sanctity of his bed. Instead, he jabbed at his phone and unleashed his rage on his poor screen. He figured if he was enough of a brat, Ten would get the hint and leave him alone. 

Yet Ten continued to stare at him with that faint smile on his lips like some Thai bodhisattva. To the rabid fan, Ten’s shining eyes might have looked hurt, but Yangyang knew better. Ten had the guilt-trip down to an art form. Insight, however, does not always produce good judgment. Yangyang had been duped by Ten’s patented kicked puppy expression countless times, and once again, the guilt crawled up his spine. Not to mention, the silence was getting awkward.

Yangyang put his phone facedown on the nightstand and buried his face into white linen. “I didn’t mean to be a jackass. I just didn’t want to deal with them anymore.” Yangyang’s voice was muffled. 

Ten, as predicted, was not at all upset by Yangyang’s initial rebuff. “So even our darling maknae can get tired? Who would have guessed?” Ten leered. A pouting Yangyang was a cute Yangyang, he thought, as he began his assault on Yangyang’s sides. 

Unable to withstand the barrage of tickling, Yangyang swore. Ten had him pinned under his thighs, and Yangyang flailed his limbs, desperate to get the upper hand. “You bastard, attacking me when I’m at my weakest.”

Ten poked him in the sides a few more times for good measure before rolling off. “I’d say this is your usual, baby.” Yangyang bared his teeth at him, ready to commence a second round and defend his dignity. Before Yangyang could pounce, Ten patted him on the head and diffused his playful anger. “But it’s good to see you smile for real. You and Xiaojun have been two sorry, sorry babies these last few weeks.” 

At the mention of Xiaojun, Yangyang’s shoulders fell. The closer the bond, the more evident when that bond breaks. Kun had been flitting around the two of them like a worried hen, though neither of them heeded his squawking. If there was one good thing to come out of this situation, it was that Kun had started stress cooking. Since the incident, Yangyang had no shortage of midnight snacks. The other members had also attempted to help them smooth over this rough patch, with limited results. Only Ten had taken the hands-off approach. He’d Yangyang no different than usual, save the occasional worried glance, and Yangyang was thankful for that shred of normalcy. 

“Did you confess to Xiaojun?” Ten’s voice was gentle, understanding. After all, they both carried the weight of unrequited love. 

Yangyang tipped his head back against his mountain of pillows and braced an arm across his eyes. “Do you even have to ask?”

Ten sighed. Raising a child was no easy feat. 

Earlier, as the cashier bagged a two six for him, he wondered if he was being a bad older brother. He wasn’t a responsible one, that was certain. But he’d vaguely forewarned Kun that he and Yangyang might need an extra wake up call the next morning, so he had covered their bases, right? Besides, seeing Yangyang so miserable made his heart hurt. As a righteous older brother, he was tasked with drinking away Yangyang’s sorrows first and worrying about consequences second. Ten slid off Yangyang’s bed to retrieve his brown paper bag and presented a bottle of vodka with a flourish. “Baby Yangyang, drink with me.”

They had chugged straight from the bottle. The empty flask laid sideways on Yangyang’s nightstand and threatened to tip over onto the plush carpet. The two of them stared blankly at the ceiling from Yangyang’s bed, numbed by the booze. 

“And he had the gall to say, ‘You’re still young. You don’t know what love is. You’re confusing our friendship for something more, but you’ll find a nice girl one day.’ The bastard.” Yangyang slurred. The world was spinning. His head felt heavy like it was a bulbous lead weight on his toothpick neck. 

“The bastard,” Ten nodded in agreement. Ten’s tolerance was impressive, but not enough to counter half a bottle of vodka. He ran an unsteady hand through Yangyang’s long bangs.

“I wish I never fell for him,” Yangyang said. Xiaojun was Yangyang’s first love. Yangyang wondered, did heartbreak the second time around hurt any less? Or would it still dig the same bloody tracks? “Hyung, how did you get over Winwin?” 

Winwin, the longstanding man of Ten’s dreams. 

Ten’s cat eyes sparkled wickedly in the ambient light. “I fuck around with handsome men until I forget.”

Yangyang expected as much. Unlike Lucas, Ten kept his affairs under wraps, but he’d often return home in the wee hours (much to Hendery’s chagrin) and present to breakfast with a smug glow that could only be described as post-coital. Yangyang couldn’t even get one man, let alone multiple. He imagined if he expressed his admiration, Ten might say something along the lines of, “I wouldn’t need to find multiple if I could have the one.” 

Yangyang looked at him skeptically. “And that works?” 

“Sometimes. Feelings don’t evaporate overnight. But I no longer feel like he’s tearing my heart out when our eyes meet, so I’d consider that a win.” Ten flicked his hair, which was too short to go anywhere. Typical Ten histrionics.

Yangyang wanted to roll his eyes, but he was captivated by the way Ten’s thick fingers swept past the tight, sensual angle of his jaw. Blame it on the alcohol, but he’d never registered how pretty Ten was. Yangyang took in Ten’s twinkling earrings, his sloped nose, his full bottom lip. 

“Then what about me?”

“What do you mean, what about you?”

Yangyang posed with his thumb and forefinger in a V under his chin. “I’m also a handsome man.” 

Ten struggled through the molasses of his mind, unable to decipher the meaning behind that cheeky smile, the lascivious quirk of Yangyang’s eyebrows. When the implication finally hit him, Ten’s eyes widened. He scooted backward nervously and pressed his hands against the headboard as if he tried hard enough, he could slip through the mahogany and escape Yangyang’s pleading eyes. “Sleep with my baby Yangyang? Oh no no no, sweet child, you’re too young for me baby.” 

Yangyang clumsily pulled himself onto Ten’s lap and trapped Ten under his weight. “I’m not your baby.” Yangyang rested his arms on Ten’s shoulders and whispered. “Ten-hyung, help me forget. Please.”

Ten sighed. “You really want your first time to be a pity fuck?”

Ah, blame it on the alcohol, Ten thought, as Yangyang’s lower lip quivered. He hadn’t meant for those words to come tumbling out. Ten didn’t know whether to feel sorry for Yangyang or for himself; Ten was reflected so clearly in those red-rimmed eyes. If Ten had any prior reservations about his status as a good brother, or even as a good person, the matter had been cleared up. He was probably going to go to hell. 

What else could Ten do but capture those trembling lips?

After their return to Korea, it was obvious that something had changed about Ten and Yangyang’s relationship. The heckling and spitfire banter hadn’t changed, but there were moments of ambiguity that Xiaojun could not account for, when Yangyang would whisper in Ten’s ear with a devious giggle, or when Ten’s hand would linger a little too long on the back of Yangyang’s neck. When they registered Xiaojun’s gaze, they would separate like children caught by the schoolteacher. It looked as if they shared the weight of a secret. 

Xiaojun had been avoiding Yangyang since the confession. The night of, Xiaojun had made some insipid excuse about staying up overnight to compose, and he’d slept on the floor of the practice room as if that would lend him some authenticity. The next morning, Kun found him turning fitfully under a thin blanket with headphones jammed over his ears and crumpled music sheets scattered around him. Before Yangyang arrived at the studio, Kun had already dragged him off the floor and verbally lashed him into reluctant wakefulness. His spine hurt like hell during practice, and he cursed himself for not sleeping on the couch.

He had kept himself up all night thinking about Yangyang. In his delirious morning hours, his mind played out worst-case scenarios. He scared himself out of slumber with the image of Yangyang’s crying face, something he’d never seen except in laughter. Though Xiaojun dreaded confrontation from the bottom of his heart, he felt a warped sense of emptiness when he awoke to Kun looking down upon his pitiful figure instead of Yangyang. 

There was no need to put on this charade, not when Xiaojun had already made himself so brutally clear.  
Xiaojun used to wonder about the way Yangyang looked at him, the curious, nebulous emotions that swirled in his eyes. It was Xiaojun’s fault for not noticing sooner. What other name could that emotion have, but longing? 

Fleeing from Yangyang was an act of kindness. In his youth, he’d nursed his own unrequited love for three years, and he knew that the best cure was distance. In fact, it was arrogant to call what Yangyang felt for him ‘unrequited love.’ After all, Yangyang was still young, nineteen, practically a child compared to Xiaojun’s ponderous twenty. It was mere confusion on Yangyang’s part to mistake their brotherly affections for romance, and Xiaojun couldn’t fault him for his naivety. Given enough time, Xiaojun was certain that the old Yangyang, his precious little brother, would return to him. 

Xiaojun was used to being told he was loved. Xiaojun had the love of millions of adoring fans, their gifts and shy smiles, their idol worship, even their willingness to abandon dignity in pursuit of him. He had the stage and the spotlight, with countless faceless entities screaming his name. Xiaojun had the love of beautiful idols: a sweet, doll-eyed trainee who’d stammered her way through a confession; a svelte dancer who’d winked at him and slid him her number under the table at the SM cafeteria; his most recent, that sultry noona who had brushed past him in the hallway and trailed a hand playfully across his chest, who kissed him like she wanted to devour him during their most recent tryst. He had been inundated with so much love that the word had lost its meaning. The love he received was pleasant white noise, spiked with heartwarming or erotic moments, but ultimately still white noise. 

Love wasn’t wanting to smack your idiot roommate for his incessant pranks. Love wasn’t finding matcha flavored sweets on your bed after a disappointment. Love wasn’t fighting and making up and finding your eyes drawn to each other’s, again and again. 

Yangyang was an accursed chatterbox who never knew when to shut up. Yet, he was like the sun. Yangyang showed Xiaojun a world beyond the gloom of his introspection, one full of buoyant laughter and fluttering hearts. Yangyang was his spoiled little brother with a cheeky smile. 

Without Yangyang, Xiaojun’s world had fallen silent. 

These days, Yangyang seemed to return to their room only to sleep. He’d been spending most of his time in Ten and Hendery's room, and he sometimes even crashed on Ten’s bed. When he and Yangyang shared the same space, the awkwardness was suffocating. It was for the best, that as colleagues, they maintained their professional distance. Xiaojun wouldn’t admit to himself that Yangyang’s absence was even more agonizing than their awkward silences. 

It was late, way past midnight, and the bottom bunk was still empty. 

“Seems like Yangyang isn’t coming back tonight,” Kun said. 

Xiaojun put his headphones around his neck and looked down at Kun from the top bunk. Kun was facing his laptop, and a MIDI file scrolled past his screen. Xiaojun snapped, “So what?” and regretted his tone. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh. In a softer voice, Xiaojun added, “He’s probably asleep.” Or with Ten, he thought bitterly. 

“Maybe you should go check on him,” Kun said, still looking at his laptop. 

The wail of a sad Taiwanese ballad streamed from Xiaojun’s headphones. 

It was admirable of Kun to bother acting as mediator. It was evident that this wasn’t one of their usual fights, but Kun persevered. Kun seemed to think that the onus was on Xiaojun to make amends. Xiaojun sighed and pulled the headphones off his neck. For Kun’s sake, Xiaojun was willing to play the part of a good older brother. 

The door clicked closed behind him. 

He wandered his way to the lounge, following the sound of soft voices. Though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, it was clear who those voices belonged to. 

A Korean movie was playing on the flat-screen so quietly the television might as well have been on mute. Xiaojun had seen it before. It was some melodramatic romance about star-crossed lovers. Ten and Yangyang were on the couch, their dark silhouettes outlined against the bright screen. Yangyang’s head was settled against Ten’s chest, and it appeared that Ten had a hand wrapped around Yangyang’s shoulder. Xiaojun leaned against the doorframe and watched them, his heart numb. 

None of them were strangers to affection in front of the camera, but this private intimacy was damning. There was no way Ten and Yangyang were simply friends. Unaware of the voyeur in their midst, Ten tucked Yangyang’s hair behind his ear and whispered something to him, eliciting a quiet chuckle. The music swelled in the background; the actors had reached the confession scene. Xiaojun had cried the first time he’d watched it. He had been overcome by the tragedy of love that was over before it started, and he somehow felt a bit like crying again. Ten and Yangyang seemed oblivious to the lovers’ sorrow. Their profiles inched towards each other, mirroring the lovers’ first and final kiss. 

Unwilling to follow this inevitable trajectory, Xiaojun flipped on the lights. His plastic slippers slapped deliberately against the floor as he strolled into the lounge. The two snapped away from each other in a rush to disentangle their limbs. Yangyang took a panicked glance at Xiaojun before fixing his gaze on Ten, his eyes pleading. The actors on the screen sobbed in each others’ arms, unaware of the drama that was unfolding before them. 

“Did I interrupt?” Xiaojun asked mildly. Since Bangkok, Ten and Yangyang had been walking on eggshells around him, and now he knew why. They didn’t need to flatter themselves; Xiaojun didn’t care at all about the nature of their relationship. He was glad that this farcical game of cat and mouse had finally come to an end. And yet, he felt unbearably cold. 

Xiaojun watched a complex series of expressions flit across Yangyang’s face. To Xiaojun’s surprise, Ten looked nonchalant, his faint smile at odds with Yangyang’s panic. “Not at all,” Ten replied, his voice just as bland and non-threatening as Xiaojun’s. 

“I really liked this movie,” Xiaojun said.

Ten back arched cat-like as he stretched his arms above his head, before settling an arm delicately around Yangyang’s shoulders. “It’s good,” Ten said. 

“You can tell they really loved each other. That’s pretty rare, isn’t it?” Yangyang had gone stiff in Ten’s arms. Xiaojun chuckled and shook his head. “I feel like nowadays, love is cheap.” 

Yangyang’s round eyes narrowed. He shook off Ten’s arm and whipped around on the couch to face Xiaojun. The fear in his eyes had been replaced by quiet fury. “I guess I wouldn’t know what love is. I’m still young, after all.”

Xiaojun barked out a laugh. He was being fed his own words. He wanted to come up with a cutting reply, but the buzzing in his head made it hard for him to think. Even in anger, Yangyang’s eyes were so bright, Xiaojun thought. He and Yangyang glared at each other, neither able to look away. 

Ten clapped abruptly, startling them out of their stalemate, and put a hand on Yangyang’s shoulder. “It’s pretty late. I think we should get to bed.” 

“Whatever,” Yangyang muttered, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. Despite his attitude, he obediently let Ten lead him away. 

“Good night, Ten-hyung,” Xiaojun said. His eyes were still fixed on the hand resting gently on Yangyang’s shoulder.

Yangyang nudged open the door to their dorm, his hair frizzy from a quick towel dry. His slippers slapped across the tiled floor, squelching with each step. 

“Nice boxers.” 

Yangyang froze in the doorway, arms stuck stiffly by his sides. Besides the damp towel over his collarbones, he was only wearing a pair of black boxers. Xiaojun’s voice was light, obviously teasing, but Yangyang could hear his anxious edge. It was a paltry imitation of true normalcy. Yangyang shivered. 

Xiaojun was sprawled on the armchair, his legs bowed like a frog’s. A self-help novel rested on his stomach. Sunlight streamed in through the window behind him, and his profile was cast in shadow, accentuating his high cheekbones and luminous eyes. Xiaojun stared at him from over the edge of his novel, his pretty lips obscured, and Yangyang was hit with an inexplicable wave of guilt when they made eye contact. 

With one hand, Xiaojun set his book facedown on the desk beside him. “There’s no need to freak out, it’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.” Xiaojun’s face was placid and inscrutable. Yangyang plastered a smile to his face, one that was felt so fake he sent a silent apology to his expression management teachers, for having failed them. Xiaojun was supposed to be working on a new project with Kun, not here, in their dorm room, alone with him. 

Since their debut, Yangyang had seen more of his member’s naked bodies than he’d like if he was being honest. The seven of them ran around the dorm naked when they couldn’t find clean clothes like feral animals, and they were close enough to the point of sharing underwear. Indeed, Xiaojun had seen it all, but that was in the context of comradery, and boys being boys. Not like this, with Yangyang’s face burning under Xiaojun’s casual scrutiny, a painfully inadequate towel around his neck. What Yangyang needed was to be swathed in fabric from head to toe, with not one inch of skin exposed to Xiaojun’s gaze. Or, he could pray for the sweet release of death. Either way, he was standing at attention by the doorway, minimally clothed, armed with only his fake-ass smile. He was a sitting duck. 

Yangyang padded over to his closet, his gait artificially formal. He was hyperaware of Xiaojun’s gaze, and so he resolutely kept his eyes trained on the floor. As Yangyang walked past Xiaojun, he felt compelled to adjust the towel around his neck. Had Yangyang taken a cursory glance at Xiaojun, he would have realized that Xiaojun had long since returned to his self-help novel. This knowledge would have come as a great disappointment. His back was to Xiaojun, and when he imagined those eyes on him, tracing the curve of his spine, he shivered. 

Unbeknownst to Yangyang, Xiaojun hadn’t turned a single page since his arrival. 

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Yangyang grasped a t-shirt limply, and the gray material swished against the floor. 

“What the hell is that?” 

Xiaojun slammed the closet door. The mirrored surface reflected the column of Yangyang’s long, thin neck, and the water droplets that wandered down his slender back. Xiaojun’s tore his eyes away from Yangyang’s reflection and pointed to the spot behind Yangyang’s left ear. An oval bruise, partially obscured by Yangyang’s drying hair, stained his pale skin a deep, wine red. Yangyang blinked at Xiaojun, confused, and tried not to look at the hand on his bare skin. 

“You’ve been sleeping with Ten, haven’t you?” Xiaojun’s voice was matter of fact, so flat that whatever denial Yangyang might have prepared died in his throat. Yangyang followed Xiaojun’s eyes, which now unabashedly tracing the lines of his pectorals down to his hips. Yangyang realized there were small hickeys in varying shades of mauve scattered across his body. Yangyang recoiled from Xiaojun’s touch, face flaming, and instinctively brought his t-shirt up to his chest. 

Snapping out of his stupor, Yangyang spat, “That’s none of your business.” Xiaojun’s anger surprised and angered him in turn. Yangyang thought Xiaojun had connected the dots long ago, but Xiaojun’s reaction suggested otherwise. What did Xiaojun expect, that he and Ten were chastely kissing like elementary school kids? Then again, what right did Xiaojun have to be angry? Yangyang yanked on the t-shirt and went back to rummaging through the closet for shorts. 

“You’ve been sleeping with Ten.”

Yangyang turned and looked up at Xiaojun through his bangs. The bitterness in Xiaojun’s voice made his heart clench painfully, as if Xiaojun had reached a hand into his chest cavity and squeezed. Yangyang’s black cargo shorts lay abandoned in a crumpled heap by his feet. 

Xiaojun’s lips were twisted, flattened into a miserable line. Yangyang didn’t want to get his hopes up, couldn’t afford it. He told himself to stop being stupid. The sullen look in Xiaojun’s eyes wasn’t one of envy. It couldn’t be. 

Yangyang opened his mouth to speak, but Xiaojun broke the silence first. “You know what? I don’t care. You can sleep with whomever you’d like.” Xiaojun raised a palm to Yangyang’s face, and Yangyang closed his eyes, anticipating pain. 

A warm hand slipped around his jaw and caressed the delicate, bruised flesh behind his left ear.  
Yangyang forgot how to breathe. The tenderness of that hand made Yangyang’s head reel, and he was brought back to that day in Bangkok. His thoughts had been a messy blur, and Xiaojun’s face was the only thing in focus, the thoughts of Xiaojun piercing through that heady, senseless desire. Ten had taught him pleasure, but it hadn’t helped him forget. 

Xiaojun tilted Yangyang’s head to the side. “But what if a fan sees this? Do you know what kind of scandal you’d cause?”

Once again, Yangyang had gotten his hopes up. He slapped Xiaojun’s hand away. “Thank you for your concern, but I can handle it.” He clenched his hands into fists and grabbed his cargo shorts off the floor. As he walked away, he yanked on his shorts and almost tripped on a pant leg. 

Yangyang wasn’t privy to the way Xiaojun looked at his mutinous hand, an ambivalent expression on his face. “Are you dating him?” 

Yangyang whipped around, stunned. There was merely half a meter’s distance between them, but it felt like they’d never been so far apart. “Is somebody jealous?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “If you really must know, he’s a very good lover.”

“That’s disgusting,” Xiaojun said, the words spilling past his lips too fast for his brain to follow.

“Right.” Yangyang stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “Because all gays are disgusting. Because we’re not allowed to love.”

“So, you love him now?” Xiaojun’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What happened to you liking me?”

Yangyang wanted to clock him in the jaw, wanted to beat some sense through his thick skull, wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he woke the fuck up. 

A part of him wanted to kiss Xiaojun until neither of them could breathe. 

“You’re a real piece of work.” Yangyang slammed the door and stormed out of the room. 

It was one in the morning, and Xiaojun was dressing quietly by moonlight. His roommates were asleep and oblivious to his apprehension. He squinted at his outline in the mirror. The first time he hooked up with his noona, he had agonized over his clothes for an hour, only for her to tear them off the minute the door was closed. Their trysts, though sporadic, were always like this. She would text him late at night with some flippant proposition that screamed ‘take it or leave it,’ and he would reply with the eagerness of a puppy dog. He was all too happy to roll over, wag his tail, expose his naked abdomen – whatever she wanted. And after the deed, she’d kick him to the curb. Her bewitching smile was the last thing he’d see before she closed the door in his face. 

Tonight’s text had come at a good time. Xiaojun’s racing thoughts had kept sleep at bay, and his whole body was acutely attuned to the bunk below his. Yangyang slept like the dead. His body was more well behaved and settled in sleep than he could ever manage during his waking hours. Xiaojun knew it was a lost cause to lie on the top bunk with his ears perked, listening for shifting of sheets or a mumbled phrase that would never come. He was going to drive himself insane trying to find meaning in silence. 

Shirtless, Xiaojun flexed in front of the mirror. The dim blue light accentuated his lean arms, which had barely grown despite months of working out. He grimaced at himself and his disappointing arm. His free hand, which had hovered over his white muscle tank, grabbed an oversized hoodie instead. He felt like a piece of shit. Xiaojun was a grown man harmlessly enjoying himself with a beautiful woman, and he had no obligation to Yangyang. Yet Xiaojun couldn’t help but think of him when that noona called. He couldn’t stop the intrusion of Yangyang’s desolate eyes when that noona kissed him. He wondered, did Yangyang think of him when he was with Ten? 

Xiaojun hadn’t realized the extent of his perversion. In the sub-basement of his thoughts, Xiaojun knew Ten and Yangyang had to be fucking, but the kiss marks on Yangyang’s body forced this knowledge to the forefront. He’d never admit it to anyone, but since his confrontation with Yangyang that evening, his mind was filled with torrid images of Ten and Yangyang together. The harder he tried to block out those thoughts, the more they returned, each image increasingly depraved. He saw Yangyang’s pretty hand grasping at pale sheets. He saw Ten whispering sweet nothings into Yangyang’s ear from behind and a furtive blush blooming across Yangyang’s cheeks. He saw Ten holding Yangyang by his hair, Ten sneering as Yangyang begged for mercy. Yangyang, a drooling, sniveling mess. 

Xiaojun shook his head vigorously like he could purge himself of his unwanted thoughts. He pulled a black baseball cap over his head. 

He was prepared to leave when he felt a chill – someone’s eyes were on him. His heart leaped to his throat. Already making excuses for himself, he turned around, dreading and craving that accusatory glower. 

Yet Yangyang was still asleep. 

Xiaojun knit his brows and stomped over to Yangyang’s bed in disbelief, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He swore he had felt a pair of eyes on his back, but Yangyang’s placid sleeping form was clear evidence to the contrary. Xiaojun blushed despite himself. He was going crazy after all. 

He ended up standing in front of the bottom bunk, his heart racing as he struggled to read Yangyang’s expression in the faint light. While he didn’t often get the chance, Xiaojun liked watching Yangyang sleep. Yangyang’s face looked entirely at peace and was devoid of his usual animation and capricious moods. The moonlight cast a blue tint on Yangyang’s half-open lips. 

Xiaojun had to tear his eyes away. 

He tugged the bill of his cap over his eyes and closed the door quietly behind him. 

Their dance teacher was displeased with the results of their afternoon practice. Even Ten couldn’t keep up – he was panting like the rest of them. Xiaojun lay comatose on the cold floor, his chest heaving, back drenched in sweat. Even though he felt disgusting, he was ready to collapse into his bed and sleep for a millennium. Staying up the night before had been the wrong call. The brutal practice and subsequent verbal lashing had eviscerated group morale, and the practice room was oddly silent. 

Through the mirror, Xiaojun watched Ten and Yangyang. They were seated against the back wall, their shoulders touching. Yangyang was flicking through his phone. He occasionally tilted his screen towards Ten, who smiled indulgently at him and ruffled his hair. The scene made Xiaojun bristle. A now familiar prickling sensation rose in his chest. He had given it a variety of names, like brotherly concern, or disgust, or moral righteousness, but it was none of those things. It was a primitive, instinctive urge that overwhelmed his reasoning. Jealousy was such a base emotion. 

Through the mirror, Ten’s eyes met Xiaojun’, and Xiaojun jerked his eyes away. He felt like he’d been caught peeping on a lover’s affair. Naming his feelings wouldn’t make them go away. If anything, he felt more on edge, overly self-conscious. Sick of seeing them together, Xiaojun closed his eyes. The intense fluorescent lights of the practice room cast an amorphous orange glow beneath his eyelids. Orange, and warm, like the sun. 

Something shifted over his supine, sorry form, blocking the light. 

When Xiaojun opened his eyes, he was greeted with a dazzling smile from WayV’s very own Disney prince. “兄弟，it’s been too long since we’ve eaten together. Let’s go!”

Xiaojun suppressed a groan and rolled over onto his stomach, displaying his unwillingness to deal with Hendery’s endless energy. “Go yourself. I’m tired.”

Ignoring him, Hendery pulled him up to his feet. “Don’t be like that, Xiaojun.” Hendery threw an arm around his clammy neck and lead him to the back of the studio, where Ten and Yangyang were seated. Ah, so this is how it’s going to be, Xiaojun thought, but he was too fatigued to put up a fight. All he could do was begrudgingly accept his fate. 

At Hendery’s signal, the room came alive. Xiaojun spotted Kun swooping in from his peripherals, armed with a standard idol smile. In some bastardized iambic pentamer, Kun said, “Ten, I need you to look something over,” placing unnatural emphasis on his words. Xiaojun thought his delivery could use some work. Spitting in the face of subtlety, Lucas and Winwin chose that moment to excuse themselves. They speed walked away as fast as their long legs could take them. As Kun pushed Ten forward by the shoulders, Ten looked Xiaojun dead in the eye, and had the audacity to give him a wink. 

There appeared to be one huge conspiracy against him. 

Hendery shook Xiaojun, his face beaming. “Let’s go for hotpot, just the three of us. Like old times.”

Hendery had a vice-like grip around Xiaojun’s neck, and he forced them both down to Yangyang’s eye level, causing Xiaojun to tip forward. Xiaojun keeled over on one knee and threw his hands in front of him to regain balance. One hand crossed over Yangyang’s extended legs. He was close enough to see a bead of sweat trailing Yangyang’s cheek like a teardrop, and cascade over his pointed chin. Yangyang looked up from his phone, right at Xiaojun, and Xiaojun felt his throat go dry. 

“Sorry, I’m not hungry.” Yangyang’s smile looked tired. 

Yangyang made a motion to stand, and Xiaojun retracted his arms as if he’d been burned. Yangyang’s expensive sneakers squeaked across the hardwood. 

Xiaojun and Hendery were alone. 

Hendery’s megawatt smile drooped around the edges. He patted Xiaojun on the shoulder in a stiff, affected manner. Then he sat back on his haunches and blew out through puffed cheeks, dropping his plastered smile altogether. The façade was blown. Hendery and Xiaojun looked at each other awkwardly, neither of them sure how to proceed with the sham dinner arrangement, now that the other key player had left. 

In the end, Xiaojun had retired to his room. He had managed to take a quick shower before making his way up to the top bunk and passing out. Before he fell asleep, he saw Yangyang’s back hunched over his precious gaming station, a set of thick headphones squarely over his ears. 

By the time Xiaojun woke up, it was past midnight. He was going to lose weight again because he’d skipped dinner. Xiaojun was going to have to put in an extra hour at the gym to make up for this. He slipped on his glasses and quietly made his way down the wooden steps, his footing sure despite the darkness. Rain smacked against the window, muffling the sound of his footsteps. He was glad for the dark. He wasn’t forced to see Yangyang’s sleeping face. 

His slippers shuffled across the tiled floor as he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and squinted against the harsh light. A bowl of udon covered in plastic wrap sat next to Taohuabi’s stoic face. His name was scrawled across the plastic in black marker. Xiaojun made a quick mental note to remind their long-suffering leader how much he was appreciated. After he shut the fridge door, Xiaojun flicked on the range hood light. It cast a gentle orange glow across their white granite countertop. Xiaojun heated his beef udon and doused it with a liberal helping of Laoganma. He nibbled delicately at his udon, carrying the bowl with him as he surveyed their cabinets on the hunt for snacks.

Jackpot. Behind a bag of flour, someone had hidden a stockpile of chocolate pudding. He wasn’t usually a snack thief, but the emotional turmoil he’d gone through in the last few weeks warranted this lapse in moral character. If his members were truly as concerned about his wellbeing as they appeared to be, they wouldn’t mind him dipping into their stash. 

Xiaojun sat at the kitchen counter an hour later, five empty chocolate pudding cups littered around him. He had left his empty bowl unwashed in the sink. Xiaojun scooped aimlessly into pudding number six, though he could hardly register the artificial sweetness. Taohuabi appeared to be giving him a look of disapproval. He turned her around so he could continue to stare into the void unhindered. The digital clock on the oven blinked 3:13AM. 

It wasn’t as if waking up in the middle of the night to binge on snacks was foreign territory, but it felt like he was hitting a new low. 

Xiaojun’s ears picked up the faint sound of a door opening and the rustle of plastic like someone was shaking raindrops off an umbrella. Then, he heard metal clanging, followed by multiple heavy thuds against carpet. A lilting curse. That light British accent was unmistakably Ten’s. Xiaojun chuckled. Ten must have knocked over the shoe rack. 

Lo and behold, Ten came into the kitchen, a sleek trench coat draped over his arm. He looked surprised to see Xiaojun up so late, and then his face contorted in horror. “Oh my god, Xiaojun! That’s my pudding!” Ten ran over to inspect the carnage, his expression one of utter devastation. 

Caught in the act, Xiaojun sheepishly offered his half-eaten pudding. Though he’d slept almost seven hours, he was disoriented and too off-kilter to process any emotion but childish shame. 

He waved away the proffered cup. “You’re buying me more pudding,” Ten huffed in Chinese. He picked the plastic containers off the counter one by one and threw them in the trash, all while shaking his head. 

Xiaojun set his pudding down sideways. The end of his spoon hung over the plastic lip and rested on the table. Since Ten and Yangyang had gotten closer, Xiaojun wouldn’t have called the relationship between him and Ten strained, per se, but it had changed. He should have been happy that Yangyang had found someone else to love, especially when that someone was as kind and charismatic as their hyung. Xiaojun smiled bitterly to himself. A happy man wouldn’t be decimating someone else’s pudding stash in the middle of the night like some rat. A happy man, knowing he’d eaten Ten’s dessert, wouldn’t feel petty triumph rising above his shame. 

Ten dropped his coat on a barstool and sat down next to Xiaojun. Ten perched his face on a delicately curved hand and rested his eyes on Xiaojun. Ten’s cat eyes seemed to glow in the faint orange light. His appraisal made Xiaojun sweat. 

“You’re not going to ask me what I was doing, coming home so late?” Ten’s smile was pure in a way that didn’t suit him. 

Ten was right. It was a good question, which Xiaojun had yet to consider. Xiaojun reflected on his own behaviors in the last few weeks, and his mouth fell slightly open. There was only one reason someone would be sneaking back to dorms at such an ungodly hour. 

Xiaojun made one false start after the other before he stuttered, “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

Ten’s smile widened, taking on a Cheshire quality. “Someone else implies that there was a someone in the first place. Was there a specific person you had in mind?”

Xiaojun’s anger cleared the fog from his mind. “Don’t bullshit me. You already have Yangyang, and you’re fucking other people?” He grabbed Ten, his fingers digging into Ten’s bony wrist. 

“So what if I am?” Ten said, his playful tone carrying a cold edge. 

“Yangyang is not your toy.”

“I’ve never treated him as such.” Ten raised his eyebrows sarcastically.

“Does he even know that you’re betraying him like this?” Xiaojun’s hand shook. “I didn’t know you were capable of such cruelty.”

To Xiaojun’s surprise, Ten burst into laughter. “Oh baby, you two are such a mess,” he said. He gently removed Xiaojun’s hand and shook out his wrist. “I mean, I think you should examine yourself before you come at me. You think ignoring your friend for weeks isn’t betrayal? Despite how much he loves you.” 

Ten shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t think you were capable of such cruelty.”

Xiaojun felt his stomach drop. 

Seeing Xiaojun at a loss for words, Ten continued. “You know, Yangyang and I are just, how do you say it,” Ten seemed to be searching for a phrase in Chinese, like the words were stuck on the tip of his tongue. Frustrated, he said in English, “Friends with benefits?”

Xiaojun furrowed his brows. He didn’t understand Ten. Not only were they separated by a language barrier, but they were also divided by ideology. They were diametrically opposed: one was unafraid to be known, and the other was afraid to know himself. 

Ten clapped his hands together in delight. He blurted, “Sex friends! We’re sex friends!” Seeing Xiaojun’s crestfallen face, Ten swiftly amended, “Of course, I care about him as my friend and little brother, but that’s all. He knows that I have other partners.”

Xiaojun’s relief made him fell sick to his stomach. The worry he felt over Yangyang had evaporated in an instant. Ten and Yangyang weren’t serious. Yangyang still loved him. And he was so, so jealous of Ten. He didn’t deserve Ten’s kindness, not when his own heart was filled with ugly, selfish desires. His vision blurred with tears. 

“Ah Junjun, don’t cry,” Ten said, pulling Xiaojun to his chest. “Yangyang truly cares about you, and I know you care about him too. The hardest thing isn’t to fight, 弟弟, it’s to be honest with each other.”

Ten rubbed a hand up and down Xiaojun’s back, hushing him like he would a child. Xiaojun’s tears soaked into the shoulder of Ten’s cashmere sweater. From outside, came the gentle pattering of rain. 

It was rare for Xiaojun and Yangyang to be alone in their dorm without any of the other members. Xiaojun would have liked to call it serendipity, but alas, the reality was not so simple. In one coordinated sweep, his teammates developed an urgent need to perfect choreography and fiddle around with vocal arrangements, likely at Kun’s behest. The conspiracy network was still going strong. Ten had shaken Xiaojun’s hand with a smirk and said, “Best of luck, 兄弟.”

Yangyang had been too preoccupied with obliterating pixels to notice the raucous evacuation of his bandmates. He was stooped over his laptop, spastically maneuvering his hands. Even with his head bent forward in concentration, Yangyang’s hair fell halfway down his nape. His hair was getting long, Xiaojun thought.

“Can we talk?” 

Yangyang turned around, his hands still flying across the keyboard. His face, which was twisted in irritation, softened when he saw Xiaojun. He took a sidelong glance at the bloodbath on his screen before closing the browser. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I could have picked another time.” Xiaojun put his hands behind his back. Suddenly, he felt shy. 

“We were on a losing streak anyways. If they want to go die in vain, they don’t need me,” Yangyang pursed his lips. Yangyang was trying to be casual, but Xiaojun saw how his eyes skirted around the room, avoiding him. 

Xiaojun took a step closer and closed the gap between them. Instinctively, Yangyang stepped back and bumped into the edge of the table. His round eyes were downcast, their usual glitter hidden underneath his shaggy bangs, and his lips were bent into a pretty moue. Since the confession, Xiaojun was afraid to look at Yangyang head-on when he didn’t have the cameras to force his hand. Xiaojun drank in the sight of Yangyang’s bowed head, the regal slope of his nose, and the strong cut of his jaw. Xiaojun wondered when he had become such a hopeless idiot. 

Xiaojun’s first impression of Yangyang was fuzzy. Xiaojun had been wound up, and he made up for his nerves with awkward enthusiasm. He had introduced himself with the embarrassing moniker, ‘DJ Xiao,’ and he walked around with his arms flexed in that short-sleeved hoodie like he had something to prove. Yangyang was just a kid back then, a quiet little boy decked out in limited edition shoes and brand name clothes that hung too loose on his skinny frame. Yangyang had nodded politely to Xiaojun’s every nonsensical word. He had looked at Xiaojun with stars in his eyes and asked him to dinner. 

Xiaojun had probably been stupid all along. 

“Yangyang, I wanted to apologize,” Xiaojun said. 

Xiaojun’s heartbeat was a roar in his ears, and he felt more nervous than he was before stepping out onto the stage. Yangyang stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the floor. Disheartened by Yangyang’s reticence, Xiaojun’s voice caught in his throat, and he awkwardly scratched the side of his nose. But this was only a temporary setback. Yangyang’s lips were trembling. Xiaojun swallowed his fear and reached out his hand. 

“I was careless, and I hurt you. I’m a coward,” Xiaojun said. He placed his hand gently on top of Yangyang’s. “But in the end, regardless of our relationship, I don’t want to lose you.”

Xiaojun’s palm was sweaty. He wished he had wiped his hands off on his jeans, wished he had written out a better apology, wished he had spent more time preparing his speech in front of the bathroom mirror. But there was no use in ruminating. He already had a long list of regrets related to Liu Yangyang, and he didn’t want any more. Since Yangyang didn’t push his hand away, Xiaojun took the liberty of clasping their fingers together. With their fingers intertwined, he flipped Yangyang’s hand palm up to inspect his delicate fingers, his elegant nails. 

Yangyang’s shoulders started to shake. Worried that Yangyang was crying, Xiaojun moved closer, and his heart swelled with unfathomable fullness. To his surprise, Yangyang was laughing. The corners of Yangyang’s eye crinkled, and he revealed two rows of pearly teeth. Yangyang waved their clasped hands in front of his face like he was witnessing some miracle. Still faintly smiling, he enveloped Xiaojun in a crushing hug. 

“You can just say you missed me,” Yangyang said, his breath tickling Xiaojun’s ear. 

“Who said I missed you?” Xiaojun immediately snarked, but he held Yangyang tighter, unwilling to let go of the precious boy in his arms. 

Yangyang was the first to pull away. “I can’t wait to put all of that behind us. There are so many things we have to catch up on, especially games. I need someone reliable on my team,” he said, shaking his head at his computer monitor. He let go of Xiaojun’s hand.

“What do you mean, put it behind us?” Xiaojun asked. His hand felt cold without Yangyang’s. 

“Are you really going to make me say it again? You know what I mean.” Yangyang rolled his eyes. “But don’t worry, I’m over it.” Looking at Yangyang’s crossed arms, his cocky countenance, it really did look like Yangyang was unaffected, like he was no longer in love with Xiaojun. 

Yangyang gave him a teasing poke in the side and Xiaojun jumped out of his reverie. Yangyang smiled sweetly. “I want us to be friends again like we were before. I’ll forget it all.” 

He would forget it all. Xiaojun’s blood rushed in his ears. 

“What if I don’t want you to forget?” Xiaojun murmured. 

The silence made it hard for Xiaojun to breathe. 

Yangyang’s expressed turned unreadable. He rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging at his long bangs before he slumped over into his armchair. He swiveled away from Xiaojun. “Then we have a problem, don’t we?”

Xiaojun resented that Yangyang could so easily avoid his eyes. Xiaojun got down onto his knees and grabbed Yangyang’s thighs, forcing Yangyang to look at him. His voice trembled as he said, “I thought I’d fall in love with a nice girl, get married, have kids. Live a standard, conventional life. But my life plans didn’t account for you.” 

Xiaojun saw a flicker of hesitation cut through Yangyang’s impassive veneer. Xiaojun’s heart thrashed against his ribcage. Xiaojun knew how he felt about Yangyang, and it wasn’t a momentary passion. Sure, he was extremely conscious of the lean taper of Yangyang’s thighs and how firm they felt underneath his hands. But Xiaojun was certain that his lust was an extension of his feelings and not the other way around. For someone so introspective, Xiaojun was terrible at confessions. 

Fuck it, he thought. 

Xiaojun launched himself up from Yangyang’s legs and pushed their lips together in a haphazard kiss. 

It wasn’t the fireworks moment Xiaojun had imagined. The kiss was too sudden, and their teeth knocked together painfully. Yangyang gasped against Xiaojun’s mouth. Their first kiss was a bust, Xiaojun thought, but the moment could be redeemed. Without giving Yangyang a chance to ask questions, Xiaojun pulled Yangyang to his feet and kissed him again. 

Xiaojun was a firm believer in fate. Perhaps it was a series of happy accidents that led them to debut in the same group, and then to become roommates. After months of denial and ambiguity, Xiaojun was finally accepting what he wanted. Xiaojun circled his arms gently around Yangyang’s waist and pulled him closer. Not everybody was fortunate enough to receive a second chance, and Xiaojun wasn’t going to waste his. When tentative arms wrapped around his neck, Xiaojun’s inner romantic roared in approval. Xiaojun flicked his tongue against Yangyang’s lip, hoping to deepen their kiss. 

He didn’t expect Yangyang to shove him away. 

“Xiaojun, what are we doing?”

Xiaojun faltered. 

“I can’t be your plaything. Not when I feel this way about you,” Yangyang whispered. 

Xiaojun eyes went wide. “No, that’s not it. I’m not –”

Xiaojun reached for Yangyang’s hands, but Yangyang gently rebuffed him. Yangyang clapped his hands onto Xiaojun’s shoulders, forcing an arm’s length between them. “Look, Xiaojun, it’s okay. I know all about your little flings. You aren’t exactly subtle.” Yangyang chuckled mirthlessly. “Anyone would wake up with you making that racket, trying on a hundred outfits in the middle of the night. When was the last one, three nights ago?” 

Xiaojun hadn’t been mistaken about feeling a pair of eyes on him after all. “I didn’t sleep with her,” Xiaojun swallowed thickly.

“Right, I’m sure you just read love letters to each other for a whole hour.” 

“You stayed up to wait for me?”

“That’s not the point.” The tips of Yangyang’s ears turned crimson, belying his gruff denial. “If you’re bored or pent up, you should go find that noona. Not me.”

Exasperated, Xiaojun snapped, “I didn’t sleep with her!” Honesty, he thought to himself, was so goddamn embarrassing. He rubbed the back of his head and sighed. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

Yangyang’s jaw dropped. He immediately clapped a hand over his mouth to try and hide his shock, but this only drew attention to his panic. The number one chatterbox, king of comebacks, seemed to be at a loss for words. Even though a matching scourge of red was blooming across his own face, Yangyang muttered, “What are you blushing for?” 

Xiaojun had already come this far, he might as well relinquish his brain-mouth filter altogether. “When she kissed me, all I could imagine was kissing you instead. I just…” Xiaojun trailed off. 

“You just what?” Yangyang’s hand was still covering his mouth, but there was undeniable mirth dancing in his eyes. Yangyang’s round eyes looked so pure, so hopeful, that Xiaojun wanted to give him the world.

Three nights ago, Xiaojun had gotten so carried away by his fantasy that he’d called out Yangyang’s name pre-coitus. He couldn’t tell Yangyang how his noona had expediently kicked him out, after parting with the words, “I knew you weren’t straight.” He couldn’t tell Yangyang how he’d spent the rest of that hour jerking off in the bathroom, thinking about the hickeys on Yangyang’s chest. Instead, Xiaojun took a step forward, and another, until he could rest his forehead against Yangyang’s. Yangyang’s hand dropped to his side. 

Xiaojun’s fingers were cool against Yangyang’s flaming cheeks.

“I’m serious about you, Yangyang.” There was a yearning in Xiaojun’s voice, a desperation that he couldn’t hide. 

Without warning, Yangyang grabbed the back of Xiaojun’s neck and pulled him into a searing kiss. 

Xiaojun swept his tongue over Yangyang’s lower lip, begging for entry. He once again put his hands around Yangyang’s waist and pulled him closer, yanking their bodies flush against one another’s. 

Yangyang was shocked by the violent flood of arousal that washed over him at the simple flick of Xiaojun’s tongue, and his mouth fell slightly open, a small whine escaping his lips. Xiaojun navigated the contours of Yangyang’s mouth, taking his time to entwine their tongues together. Yangyang gently pushed Xiaojun onto the floor, with a hand on Xiaojun’s back to cushion the impact. The floor was cold, a necessary reprieve from the scorching heat Xiaojun felt spreading from his core. Yangyang kissed him back in earnest, sucking on his tongue and biting his lower lip in turn. Xiaojun groaned into his mouth. He ran his hands through Yangyang’s hair, then reverently traced his fingers down the column of Yangyang’s neck.

When Yangyang’s hard member grinded down against his thigh, Xiaojun’s breath caught in his throat. He pulled away from the kiss and tilted his head back in surprise. His own cock was in no better shape, but the proof of Yangyang’s desire still sent tingles down Xiaojun’s spine. Yangyang impatiently pushed his head against Xiaojun’s throat and growled, not wanting to be separated from Xiaojun’s warm mouth, but Xiaojun shoved him away. 

“Fuck, Yangyang, the door’s open.” Xiaojun panted, his hair wild from Yangyang’s ministrations. 

Yangyang narrowed his eyes. In defiance, he yanked Xiaojun to his feet and kissed him again. Xiaojun made vague attempts to push him away, but Yangyang persisted, this time taking the kiss further by grazing his tongue against the roof of Xiaojun’s mouth. With their tongues tangled together, Yangyang walked Xiaojun backward towards the door and kicked it closed with one precise swing. Xiaojun’s back hit the door with a thump. Yangyang braced one hand against the door, over Xiaojun’s shoulder, locking him in place. Xiaojun, 钢铁直男, felt his knees go week. 

“You’re good at this,” Xiaojun said breathlessly. Xiaojun cringed, not meaning for his voice to sound as coy as it did. 

“I know I am.” Yangyang wrenched his fingers in Xiaojun’s shirt and peppered soft, open-mouthed kisses against Xiaojun’s jaw. “Jealous?” Yangyang smirked. 

Yangyang wasn’t wrong. The jealousy was eating Xiaojun alive. However, Yangyang wasn’t the object of his envy. 

Ten. 

Xiaojun wanted to wipe the memory of Ten from Yangyang’s body and reclaim Yangyang as his alone. Xiaojun’s hands grasped at the door behind him. He was ashamed of his thoughts, and his shame made him afraid to reach out and take what he wanted. 

Suddenly, a knee was forced between his legs. “Focus on me,” Yangyang said. His tone was possessive, hungry. Maintaining eye contact, Yangyang reached a hand past Xiaojun’s hip to slowly turn the lock. The mechanism bolted in place with a resolute click. 

Xiaojun’s mouth went dry. 

Yangyang moved his knee to rub against Xiaojun, glancing past his arousal in gentle circles. Xiaojun didn’t know what to think anymore. “Aren’t we moving a little fast?” Xiaojun asked. Unable to resist Yangyang, Xiaojun’s hands settled gently over Yangyang’s hips. 

“Do you want to stop?” Yangyang cocked his head to the side and gave him an innocent look. At the same time, he exerted more pressure between Xiaojun’s legs. How dare he make that face while grinding against Xiaojun’s painfully erect cock. 

Refusing to be one-upped, Xiaojun put his hands around Yangyang’s pert ass and squeezed, bringing Yangyang’s cock to his hip. Yangyang hissed and rested his forehead on Xiaojun’s shoulder, letting Xiaojun roll his hips against him. 

Xiaojun thought to himself, this whole situation was absurd. A mere half hour ago, they weren’t even on a speaking basis, and now they were grinding against each other like two animals in heat. 

The horny young man in Xiaojun would have been happy to dry hump his way to orgasm, but the romantic in him demanded that they properly consummate their indeterminate relationship on a bed. At the very least, he wanted to avoid coming in his pants. His underwear was already a sticky, unbearable mess, and his cock demanded liberty from its restraints. 

“Yangyang, I want to make love to you,” XIaojun said, his heart filled to the brim with emotion. 

“Disgusting.” Yangyang reared back, his nose wrinkling in distaste. He guttural English betrayed his German accent. Yangyang continued, switching back to Chinese, “How old are you, fifty? Who even says that?”

The blush returned to Xiaojun’s face at full force, and he stamped his foot. “It’s romantic.” This kid was unbelievable. Ruining the goddamn mood. 

Yangyang paid him no attention. He sauntered to his bed and sat with his legs crossed coquettishly, then patted the space beside him. “Well, Dejun, let’s make sweet, sweet love.” He waggled his eyebrows. 

Xiaojun wondered why Fate herself seemed determined to humiliate him. This was his punishment for denying Her will. He considered the possibilities, one of which was leaving his pride intact and walking out the door. 

Who was he kidding? “You’re crazy,” Xiaojun said through clenched teeth. He took a few controlled breaths before stalking over to the bed, his hard-on leading the way. Xiaojun crossed his arms and sat down next to Yangyang while pointedly looking away. 

As if he felt sorry for obliterating the mood, Yangyang placed pacifying hands around Xiaojun’s shoulders and kneaded his tight muscles. Little kisses made their way up Xiaojun’s neck to the shell of his ear, where a wet tongue traced his cartilage. “Don’t be mad at me, 哥哥. I hate it when you’re mad.”

Xiaojun’s determination to resist Yangyang’s seductions was shot to pieces. Yangyang calling him 哥哥 did things to him. Xiaojun pushed Yangyang down onto the bed. They were both unbearably hard, and soon the jovial mood was replaced by their more primitive desires. 

In a heartbeat, Yangyang was frantically tugging at Xiaojun’s shirt, his hands scrabbling over Xiaojun’s toned stomach as he pushed the fabric away. In his urgency, Xiaojun had somehow gotten his head stuck in the collar of his loose t-shirt. He heard a faint snicker. While he struggled with his shirt, a teasing fingernail scraped up the middle of his abdomen, making him squirm. 

“You’ll regret laughing at me, 刘扬扬,” Xiaojun snarled, when he was finally free of his shackles. He slammed his hands down beside Yangyang’s head with his lips twisted in what he hoped was a domineering sneer. 

Entirely unintimidated, Yangyang nuzzled Xiaojun’s arm with his nose. “Xiaojun, you’ve been working hard.” He playfully squeezed Xiaojun’s bicep before looking up at him through his lashes. “How manly.” 

Xiaojun knew this brat was acting coquettish to mess with him, but he couldn’t help his swell of pride. Yangyang grinned. He knew all too well just how to stroke Xiaojun’s ego. Yangyang’s hands roamed over Xiaojun’s body, his fingertips dancing over Xiaojun’s sides before he grinded his hips upwards, seeking friction against his hard member. Xiaojun squirmed under Yangyang’s feather-light caresses and laughed breathlessly. Yangyang beneath him was a sight to behold. Xiaojun watched the rise and fall of his chest and the faint opening of Yangyang’s red lips as he sucked in shallow breaths. Yangyang’s eyes were glassy with arousal. Another wave of desire washed over Xiaojun, pooling low in his abdomen. In one swift motion, he pulled Yangyang’s shirt over his head and tossed it into a corner. 

Yangyang pouted. “That’s Balenciaga.”

“Don’t care,” Xiaojun said, before he trapped Yangyang in a searing kiss. Their asynchronous heartbeats reverberated between their warm, bare chests. 

In between kisses, Yangyang said, “Xiaojun, let’s get each other off.” Without warning, Yangyang pulled Xiaojun up into a sitting position and settled onto his lap. Yangyang knotted his fingers in Xiaojun’s hair and grinded forward, the rough denim of his jeans pressing against Xiaojun’s tented boxers. The friction against Xiaojun’s over-sensitive cock had a pleasant burn, one that bordered on the edge of too much.

Xiaojun thought that if Yangyang kept rocking against him like this with his neck exposed, his eyes closed in pleasure, Xiaojun might come from the sight alone. 

“Wait, stop,” he mumbled, resting his hands on Yangyang’s gyrating hips. “Let me take my pants off.” 

“Oh, my bad. Why don’t I take mine off too, while you’re at it?” Yangyang kissed Xiaojun’s cheek and glided off his lap. Yangyang made a show of taking off his jeans. He got onto his knees and flipped down his waistband to reveal a flash of pink boxers, biting his lip as the denim slipped past his bulge. With one hand, he cupped his balls as the other snaked around his neck. There was a clear wet patch on his boxers, where his cock strained against the thin fabric. 

Still fondling himself, Yangyang trailed a hand down his collarbone, tracing circles around a pert nipple before pushing his jeans past his knees. He crawled out of the confines of the rough fabric and trapped Xiaojun’s thighs between his arms. His face mere millimeters away from Xiaojun’s, Yangyang licked his lips lasciviously, making no effort to contain a mischievous grin. 

“你干什么呀！” Xiaojun said, mortified. “Can’t you take your pants off like a normal person?” To demonstrate, Xiaojun slid off his pants with mechanical precision and folded them, before placing the neat bundle on the floor. Xiaojun glared at Yangyang defiantly, his dignified posture an indictment of Yangyang’s lack of moral fiber. 

Yangyang burst out laughing. “Didn’t you like that, 哥哥？Maybe a little too much,” he said, flicking Xiaojun’s straining cock through his boxers. He smiled cheerfully as if he wasn’t leading Xiaojun around by the nose. When Xiaojun rolled his eyes, the sight of his irritation sending a tingle down Yangyang’s spine. 

Xiaojun was frantic to take back control, if not to satisfy his pride as a man, then at least to show Yangyang that he wasn’t some inexperienced virgin. He yanked down the top of Yangyang’s boxers, revealing his sprightly cock. Unlike his own cock, which traversed straight, Yangyang’s curved upwards. His glans was a swollen, plump pink. Without thinking, Xiaojun decided to grab it. 

“How romantic,” Yangyang said, giggling. 

Xiaojun glared at him and began to stroke, yanking up harder than he would on himself, releasing his pent-up fury and embarrassment on Yangyang’s stiff cock. The pressure made Yangyang wince, and he said, “You’re supposed to stroke it, not rip it off.”

Xiaojun sputtered, monosyllabic nonsense catching in his throat before he fell silent. His face burned scarlet. He relaxed his grip on Yangyang’s cock, but his hand had stilled around the shaft. His eyes were glued to Yangyang’s cock, its head weeping translucent fluid, the pearly precum dripping down his glans. Xiaojun was too embarrassed to look away, too embarrassed to proceed. 

Yangyang gave him a crescent eyed smile, one he had practiced on Ten to favorable effect, and gently nudged him away. Xiaojun stiffly released Yangyang’s cock, his hand clawed around a phantom girth.

Yangyang purred, “Why don’t you try sucking instead?” With one elegant foot, Yangyang slipped his boxers off his knees, trailing a pointed right toe over an extended leg. Xiaojun’s eyes followed that roaming foot, entranced, his gaze sliding down an expanse of creamy leg before traveling back up to the apex, where Yangyang’s erect member stood at attention. 

Predictably, Xiaojun gulped. He knit his brows together as he sidled down to rest between Yangyang’s bent legs. “Like this?” Xiaojun asked, giving Yangyang’s cock an experimental lick up the shaft. He looked up at Yangyang, his dark eyes accentuated by his shock of white hair.

Yangyang hummed, noncommittal. “Just don’t use your teeth.” 

Yangyang’s big round eyes and fluffy sheep’s fur lent him a certain cheeky innocence in the public sphere, but none of their fans had seen him like this, propped up on his elbows, legs spread wantonly, his pupils blown wide. Xiaojun shivered. He tentatively wrapped his lips around Yangyang’s cock, stretching his jaw to accommodate Yangyang’s girth. Xiaojun had fantasized about sleeping with Yangyang time and time again, his daydreams an amorphous mirage of shadow and angles, but the real thing was far too visceral. He hadn’t been able to imagine the feel of Yangyang’s curly pubic hair on his nose, the mild buttery sweetness of Yangyang’s precum; how he couldn’t fit all of Yangyang’s cock in his mouth, how Yangyang’s glans would occasionally hit the back of his throat and bring tears to his eyes. Xiaojun could only manage to get his pretty mouth halfway down Yangyang’s cock. He forgot about sucking or using his tongue, and the novel sensation of his mouth being filled overwhelmed his ability to coordinate. He bobbed up and down with only his lips, his jaw straining from the effort. Saliva pooled around the base of Yangyang’s cock. 

To be honest, Xiaojun kind of sucked at this. 

Yangyang wondered if he should fake a moan but decided against it. How else would Xiaojun get better, if not through practice? Besides, the visual impact was already sending Yangyang’s mind into overdrive. Xiaojun was prostrated on his knees, his small mouth stretched tight, his eyes rimmed red. Every time Yangyang’s cock drove too far, Xiaojun would keen, his breathy pants joining the wet sounds of saliva on flesh. After letting him struggle for a few more minutes, Yangyang plucked an indignant Xiaojun off his shaft. 

Xiaojun’s small pink tongue was still sticking out, ready to savour more of Yangyang’s precum. He was pouting, Yangyang thought. Before Xiaojun had the chance to complain, Yangyang kissed him, swirling their tongues together. 

Yangyang backed him against the headboard, one hand reaching over his shoulder to pin him against the wooden slats. Yangyang ghosted his free hand down Xiaojun’s thin chest to his lightly toned stomach, evading his straining cock to stroke his inner thigh instead. That hand kneaded his balls, smoothed over his ass, traveled everywhere except where Xiaojun needed it the most. 

Xiaojun felt like he was going to burst. The damp patch on his boxers was rapidly expanding. Yangyang touched a fingertip to that wet spot, firmly pressing down onto the head of Xiaojun’s cock, before pulling away a silvery thread of fluid. His eyes locked on Xiaojun’s, Yangyang put his finger in his mouth and sucked. 

Xiaojun barely managed to suppress a whimper. 

Yangyang licked his finger, coating it with saliva before plunging it deep into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks around his thin digit, giving Xiaojun a preview of what he had in store. 

Yangyang bent down and nuzzled Xiaojun’s bulge with his cheeks, his hands gripping the underside of Xiaojun’s thighs, spreading him. With his teeth, he slowly pulled Xiaojun’s grey boxers down his legs. His warm breath against Xiaojun’s cock was driving him wild. Yangyang lathed his tongue around the head of Xiaojun’s cock, flicking his frenulum as he sucked. Seeing Xiaojun’s eyes roll to the back of his head, Yangyang plunged Xiaojun’s entire shaft into his mouth, taking it to the back of his throat, swallowing as he went. 

Xiaojun’s head snapped back and hit the headboard. “Fuck,” Xiaojun swore. 

Yangyang chuckled, sending vibrations buzzing down Xiaojun’s cock. His cheeks were hollowed around Xiaojun’s dick, and his pretty round eyes were smiling. 

Xiaojun gritted his teeth. He forced himself to breathe and tried not to cum. “You’re just showing off.”

Yangyang hummed, managing to smirk around Xiaojun’s cock. He slicked his wicked mouth up and down Xiaojun’s length, thoroughly covering it with saliva before placing his hand over the base of Xiaojun’s shaft, where his mouth couldn’t comfortably reach. Yangyang moved his hand in conjunction with his bobbing head, enveloping Xiaojun in tight warmth. 

Xiaojun was at a loss. He knew he was going to come with distressing speed, and he wanted to cover his eyes to spare himself the embarrassment, but he knew he’d be an idiot for letting this sight go to waste. 

Yangyang’s mouth slid off his cock with a wet plop. His hand took over for his mouth, stroking Xiaojun’s shaft from base to tip, his thumb sweeping over the slit. He sucked Xiaojun’s balls and mumbled, “You can grab my hair, if you want. Gently.” Yangyang proceeded to mouth Xiaojun’s perineum, applying firm pressure with the flat of his tongue. The foreign pleasure made Xiaojun’s limbs go weak. 

Xiaojun’s trembling hands settled into Yangyang’s sandy locks. He was a little disappointed that Yangyang’s mouth was no longer around his cock. In his twenty years of life, it was the closest he had come to a transcendental experience. Yangyang’s hand was deftly dragging precum over his shaft, his other hand braced against Xiaojun’s thigh. 

Xiaojun was too shy to tell Yangyang he wanted to cum in his mouth. It was the vice of every young male who had watched excessive amounts of porn, to want to paint his lover’s face in white. Ten had taught Yangyang well, Xiaojun despaired, almost too well. Ten had been the first to experience this wonderous, wet heat. 

Against his will, Xiaojun imagined white, viscous liquid dripping down Yangyang’s pretty face, pearly chains on his elegant nose, spools of it tangled in his fluttering eyelashes. Or maybe, Yangyang had used his own lips to beg Ten to cum on his face, to fuck him up. Xiaojun’s fingers curled tighter in Yangyang’s hair, causing Yangyang to keen against his perineum. 

Xiaojun saw cum mingling with saliva, dripping down the corner of Yangyang’s mouth. 

The thought horrified him, and Xiaojun squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the image. Yangyang stroked faster, wet sounds accompanying Xiaojun’s ragged breath. 

Xiaojun felt a wet tongue trace the folds of his hole and dip inside him. 

Xiaojun’s body jerked, cum splattering over Yangyang’s fingers, spilling onto his own stomach in thick spurts. Xiaojun’s mouth fell open in surprise, too shocked to make a sound. His earthshattering orgasm had exhumed a burning shame that lay dormant within him. He’d not only imagined Yangyang like that, with Ten, but he’d liked it. He’d liked the sick, twisted despair that clawed at his ego. 

Then, there was the other issue. The word ‘liked’ wasn’t enough to describe how he felt about Yangyang’s tongue in his ass. 

“What the hell was that?” After the rush of his orgasm, Xiaojun felt exhausted, like he’d been dancing on stage for hours. 

Yangyang elegantly licked Xiaojun’s cum off his fingers, savouring the flavour. “You came a lot,” Yangyang remarked blandly, taking in the mess on Xiaojun’s abdomen. “Do you not masturbate? It’s not healthy to let yourself get pent up.”

Xiaojun groaned and pulled tissues from the nightstand to wipe the mess off his stomach. He didn’t think snapping back with his masturbation habits would earn him any more street cred, especially not the most recent incident of three nights ago. Just like this time, he had come unexpectedly while thinking filthy thoughts about Yangyang. Only he’d underestimated the velocity of his swimming friends and had gotten spunk all over the toilet cover. Some had even sprayed onto the wall. A total mess. 

Xiaojun’s face erupted in flaming heat. “Shut up. I meant…the ass thing,” he said, his voice trailing off into nothing. Xiaojun thought sex should have been wordless, two people silent but for the sounds of their moans, maybe some romantic music playing in the background. Why was having sex with Yangyang so embarrassing? Why did Yangyang talk so much?

Yangyang grabbed the tissue box and took over. He chucked spent tissues over his shoulder before using his tongue to clean off the rest of the sticky fluid. Xiaojun’s abdomen clenched, and he narrowed his eyes at Yangyang, who seemed perfectly content consuming his cum. Yangyang said, “You know that’s where two men do it, right? This is pretty common knowledge, Dejun. Maybe you should watch more porn.” 

Xiaojun didn’t ask to be attacked like this. 

Xiaojun glowered at him. “I know what anal sex is, Liu Yangyang.” 

“If you knew already, why’d you ask?” Yangyang sidled up next to him against the headboard. 

Yangyang’s lips gently graced Xiaojun’s neck before making their way up to his lips. Xiaojun grimaced. He was uninterested in the taste of his own cum, but he accepted the kiss anyway and tried not to think about where Yangyang’s tongue had recently forayed. Yangyang’s hand inched towards Xiaojun’s cock. His soft cock, still wet with saliva and semen, was so sensitive that his glans was almost painful to the touch. Xiaojun was about to smack Yangyang away when he noticed a critical situation. 

“Yangyang, you’re still hard.” Xiaojun was horrified. He had indulged in his own pleasure and quarter-life crisis while his partner’s cock remained uncomfortably hard. For someone so petulant and childish in his day-to-day, Yangyang had an admirable amount of patience in the sexual department. 

Yangyang grinned, then firmly stroked up against Xiaojun’s inner thigh. “What do you think we should do about that?” 

Xiaojun thought he had a refractory period, but apparently not. There were far more carnal mysteries to his young male body that he had yet to unlock on his own, and clearly Yangyang was accelerating the discovery process. With one simple hand on his thigh, Xiaojun found himself half-hard. Again, Xiaojun thought about coming up with some milquetoast excuse about his bountiful sexual experience, desperate to prove somehow that he wasn’t some pathetic virgin even if his lively bodily responses and lack of initiative indicated otherwise. 

“哥哥, you want me?” Yangyang mewled. 

When Yangyang drew his finger around Xiaojun’s lips, Xiaojun lost his train of thought. It seemed that this was happening a lot, these days. He could only nod dumbly, mesmerized by Yangyang’s finger around his parted mouth. 

“Then get on the top bunk.”

“Why?” Xiaojun asked, delirious. He was already playing out a fantasy where his cock was buried deep inside Liu Yangyang’s perky ass, which could very well be satisfied right where they were. 

Yangyang clicked his tongue. “How am I supposed to ride you on the bottom bunk? There’s not enough space.”

For the first time in months, Xiaojun tripped on his way up to his bed. 

Instead of following him, Yangyang scampered away to the closet. “Where are you going?” Xiaojun pressed his forearms against the headboard on the upper bunk and looked down at Yangyang impatiently from this vantage point. Yangyang was bent over, rummaging through his backpack. 

With a flourish, Yangyang pulled out a whole daisy chain of condoms and dangled them in the air, the silvery packets gleaming like fish scales. “You think your magical dick will just slide itself into my self-lubricating ass?” Out of the blue, Yangyang tossed something his way. Xiaojun caught it without thinking, his hand clasping around smooth plastic. He looked at the half-empty bottle in his hand, the clear fluid frothy from its arc across the room. 

Xiaojun read the label and promptly dropped the bottle, his face turning crimson. It was anal lube. “Could you be any cruder?” 

Yangyang held the condom chain in his mouth and scurried up to the top bunk, his cock bouncing as he ran. Xiaojun averted his gaze, unable to deal with Yangyang’s energy. Yangyang ripped a condom off the strand with his teeth and intercepted the package with two fingers, twirling it against the light. “I can if you want me to be. I have a gift for dirty talk. Amongst other things.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Alright, alright.” Taking a glance at Xiaojun’s impatient frown, Yangyang tossed the condom aside and cracked open the lid on the bottle of lube. He squeezed a good amount onto his palms, warming up the lube with both hands, rolling his fingers in the unctuous fluid. “Sit back and watch.”

“But.” Xiaojun crawled forward, wanting to help in some way. He reached for Yangyang, only for Yangyang to kick him lightly in the thigh, forcing him back.

“Watch.”

Defeated, Xiaojun sat cross-legged, his right foot jiggling restlessly against his calf. His hand migrated toward his aching cock. 

“And don’t touch yourself,” Yangyang snapped. 

Xiaojun rolled his eyes. Yangyang was bratty even on a good day, but he was so demanding during sex. Yangyang laid down on his back, his head propped up on Xiaojun’s pillows. With his legs apart, Yangyang began to stroke himself, lubed hand flitting lightly over his shaft. 

Yangyang’s eyelids fluttered closed. Despite Xiaojun’s scorching gaze, Yangyang brazenly displayed his quivering thighs and panting mewls. As Yangyang pleasured himself, his other hand reached further down and circled his hole. Xiaojun’s index finger unconsciously rotated against his thigh, replicating Yangyang’s motions. Xiaojun watched with a dry mouth as Yangyang’s slick finger reached inside. 

Yangyang slowly drove his finger deeper, curling his knuckle against his inner walls. Through half-lidded eyes, he peered at Xiaojun, who was blushing all the way down to his collarbones, clearly struggling to contain himself. Yangyang loved the way Xiaojun looked at him. He’d been starved of his 哥哥’s beautiful, sloe-eyed gaze, and now Xiaojun was watching him like he was the only thing that mattered. Yangyang clenched around his finger, pushed nearly to the brink by the need in Xiaojun’s eyes. 

Yangyang moved faster over his cock, calling out Xiaojun’s name over and over in broken syllables like a mantra. With one final stroke, Yangyang jerked forward as cum spurted onto his abdomen. He milked the last of his high, palming his cock a few more times before extracting a shiny finger. He dragged a hand through his cloudy cum, scooping up thick tangles of it and wiping his fingers off in Xiaojun’s sheets. Yangyang smirked. Xiaojun was so far gone, he didn’t even notice the state of his sheets. 

Xiaojun was hopelessly hard. Xiaojun wanted to be inside him, wanted to fuck Yangyang until he kept screaming his name. “Yangyang, I…” He faltered. 

Through the post-orgasm haze, Yangyang gave him a sultry look. Not waiting for Xiaojun to find his words, Yangyang plunged two wet fingers back inside his hole. He wasn’t accustomed to the intrusion of two fingers, and he gritted his teeth against the mild burn of it, stretching himself out. He put on a show for Xiaojun, panting harder than he would on his own as he scissored his fingers, encouraged by Xiaojun’s soft, laboured breaths. 

Yangyang added a third finger. Xiaojun pinched his thighs, willing himself to stay composed as lust burned in his eyes. Every so often, Yangyang would dash his pink tongue against his lips, moistening the chapped flesh. His head was tilted to the side, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw. Yangyang was wildly sexy, oozing the kind of sex appeal he had on stage but rawer, made primal by his pleasure. 

Xiaojun hadn’t been the first to see Yangyang like this. 

It was Xiaojun’s own fault that someone else had claimed Yangyang before he had the chance. Egged on by a bewildering possessiveness that gripped him by the neck, Xiaojun blurted out, “Did you do this with Ten?” It was a stupid question, and Xiaojun didn’t know what kind of answer he wanted.

Yangyang sat up and removed his fingers, the expression in his eyes flinty. “Didn’t you do this with that noona?”

Xiaojun had not, in fact, seen his noona fingering her ass, her legs splayed out wide, her hips faintly rising off the bed with each of her leisurely thrusts. 

Xiaojun desperately launched forward, grabbing Yangyang by the waist, afraid Yangyang would leave. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. What I meant was, I’m an unbelievable bastard, and I have some… issues that I haven’t resolved. I don’t want to blow this with you.” Xiaojun would have said anything for Yangyang to continue if he was being honest with himself. He piously kissed the back of Yangyang’s hand, attempting to rekindle the mood he had so effectively snuffed. 

Yangyang felt a little sorry for Xiaojun, the infamous 四郎瞪 reduced to making puppy dog eyes while slobbering over his hand like some wayward mutt. “We really need to have a talk after this.” Yangyang pulled Xiaojun into a hug, patting his back as if Xiaojun was the one who had been wronged. His 哥哥 was such a handful, sometimes. 

But, as it were, Xiaojun still needed to be taught a lesson. Yangyang pushed Xiaojun onto his back, knocking the wind out of him, and pinned Xiaojun down with his thighs. Yangyang’s alluring smile contrasted with the deadly look in his eyes. Xiaojun gaped as Yangyang pressed an achingly gentle hand on the centre of his chest, the tenderness of that hand sending foreboding chills down Xiaojun’s spine. “You’re lucky Xiaojun. Lucky that I’m as horny as you are.”

Yangyang pounced on Xiaojun, latching their lips together. When Xiaojun brought his hands up to rest on Yangyang’s hips, Yangyang slapped his hands away, giving him a vicious smirk. “No touching.” He grinded forward against Xiaojun’s cock, his own member still soft and wet with lube. Yangyang reached out behind him for the condom. With his eyes locked on Xiaojun’s, Yangyang tore the condom wrapper and threw it over the side of the bed, letting it flutter to the floor. He balanced the latex sheath on tip of Xiaojun’s penis, and then slid the condom down Xiaojun’s length a centimetre at a time, his hand barely encompassing Xiaojun’s girth. 

“Yangyang, hurry up,” Xiaojun moaned. He wanted to buck his hips up into Yangyang’s hand, was so desperate for more contact he could cry, but he had a feeling that Yangyang would only torment him more if he did. 

“Didn’t you say you were sorry? You don’t seem very sorry to me.” Yangyang pretended to fret, his hand forgetting its downwards trajectory on Xiaojun’s cock. Instead, he sat up on his knees and penetrated himself from behind, giving Xiaojun a clear view of his fingers disappearing into his slicked hole. 

Xiaojun’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He grabbed at his damp sheets, futilely twisting them beneath his fists. “Please,” he begged. 

“Please what?” Yangyang continued to fuck himself, unconcerned by Xiaojun’s desperate state. 

“Weren’t you going to ride me?” he growled. 

“Impatient.” Yangyang tsked. Yangyang poured lube onto Xiaojun’s member, the cold shock of it making Xiaojun gasp, and lined Xiaojun up against him. Yangyang was glad that Xiaojun appeared to be entranced by his twitching entrance and too occupied to notice how nervous he was. He acted confident, but Yangyang was sure that his heart was going to explode. He’d wanted Xiaojun for so long, this felt like he was floating through a dream, a reverie from which he’d ultimately wake. Now that Xiaojun was in front of him, about to push inside him, Yangyang’s mind went blank. 

With a shaky exhale, Yangyang sank down slowly onto Xiaojun’s pulsing cock. . 

The pain of being stretched out made tears spring to Yangyang’s eyes. Yangyang levered himself on Xiaojun’s cock, pushing himself up and down with his feet. He knew Xiaojun would stop if Yangyang breathed as much of a word about his pain. At the end of the day, his 哥哥 was kind. Yangyang wasn’t a romantic like Xiaojun. He didn’t believe in the maidenly romance movies Xiaojun loved to watch, in kisses under the moonlight, or in true love. Yet, Yangyang found himself pushing past his pain, determined to deliver romance without its gritty, jagged edges. There was something about being penetrated that stripped him raw, turned him inside out, and forced his heart on display. He impaled himself on Xiaojun in short, shallow strokes, biting his bottom lip as he rode out the pain. 

Xiaojun was blown away by the sensation of Yangyang gripping him, sucking him in. Yangyang’s walls were even warmer and tighter than he had imagined. However lost Xiaojun was in his thoughts, he still saw the way Yangyang had turned his head away, how his eyebrows furrowed. Yangyang seemed so confident, so cocksure in teasing him, Xiaojun hadn’t expected him to look this vulnerable while riding him.

“Yangyang.” Xiaojun whispered his name like it was a prayer. Yangyang was afraid to believe that yearning, tremulous voice. A single tear spilled over his cheek, plopping like rain onto Xiaojun’s stomach. Yangyang wasn’t the type to cry over anguish or outbursts of emotions, but he couldn’t help it when it came to Xiaojun. 

“Yangyang, you’re crying,” Xiaojun said in alarm, pulling at Yangyang’s forearm. 

“I’m not.” Yangyang furiously wiped away his tears with a hurried hand and glared down at Xiaojun. 

Xiaojun put his hands around Yangyang’s thin hips, smoothing his thumbs over those pointed hipbones. Yangyang didn’t push him away. “Does it hurt? We could stop.”

“No way. It doesn’t hurt.” Yangyang tried to move, but Xiaojun had him trapped. 

“Then why are you crying?”

It was Yangyang’s turn to be flustered. He felt like Xiaojun’s eyes were staring straight through him, flipping over every stone, unearthing all the secrets he’d hidden away in the corners of his heart. He thought he could treat this as something casual, but he wasn’t the type to lie to himself. Yangyang covered his eyes with his hands as he tried to dampen his turbulent emotions. With Xiaojun still inside him, Yangyang whispered, “Xiaojun, I still love you.” 

Yangyang’s shoulders were small, slumped forward as if he was resigned to Xiaojun pushing him away. 

Xiaojun found himself unable to come up with the right words. He was no longer plagued by the insecurities he’d harboured for so long, and he was certain about how he felt. But he knew that no matter what he said, Yangyang wouldn’t believe him. Xiaojun’s heart squeezed.

Xiaojun flipped them, pinning Yangyang onto the bed with his arms above his head, one hand trapping both his wrists. Yangyang squeaked, surprised by the sudden change in position as Xiaojun’s cock scraped past his prostate. At a slow pace, Xiaojun began to thrust into Yangyang, rolling his hips forward. With reverence, Xiaojun kissed Yangyang’s neck, his tongue lightly swirling over the dips in his collarbone. He nipped at the base of Yangyang’s throat, alternating teeth with apologetic laps of his tongue. Feeling Xiaojun’s wet tongue on his sensitive neck, an inadvertent moan escaped Yangyang’s lips. He bucked underneath Xiaojun’s body, desperate to cover his mouth, but Xiaojun’s held on vice-like to his wrists, locking him in place. Yangyang rasped, “What are you doing to me, Xiaojun?” 

Hearing his name spill from Yangyang’s mouth, his lover’s voice spiked with a hoarse, seductive edge, Xiaojun had to fight to retain control. 

Xiaojun sucked harder on Yangyang’s smooth, pale skin, and Yangyang released a choked sob. Xiaojun grinned against his throat and sucked again, this time above Yangyang’s collarbone. Yangyang started to piston back against Xiaojun’s cock, seeking more pressure, whining softly as Xiaojun’s mouth traversed downwards. 

“哥哥,” he whimpered, “More.” 

Xiaojun could no longer hold himself back. He snapped his hips upwards, driving into Yangyang’s tight hole. Xiaojun’s sudden aggression made Yangyang gasp, his hips jolting. Yangyang’s short nails scraped their way down Xiaojun’s back, fumbling for purchase. Yangyang looked so beautiful like this, his eyes closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed, plump lips parted like he was going to start singing. 

Xiaojun bit his way down Yangyang’s body, swivelled his tongue over Yangyang’s nipples, marking a new trail of kiss marks on Yangyang’s creamy skin. As Xiaojun came, he sucked hard on the skin behind Yangyang’s left ear, mumbling words that Yangyang couldn’t quite make out. 

Spent, Xiaojun pulled out. He yanked off the condom and tied it off, suddenly embarrassed to look at Yangyang. Yangyang was looking at him with stars in his eyes, his gaze overflowing with adoration that Xiaojun didn’t think he deserved.

“I recall somebody giving me a lecture about leaving marks,” Yangyang said, still struggling to catch his breath. 

“Shut up.” Xiaojun laid down beside Yangyang and scooped him into his arms, cradling his waist. He covertly assessed his handiwork and was pleased by the purple hickeys that had blossomed across Yangyang’s skin. 

“You better help me conceal these.”

Xiaojun rolled his eyes and pulled Yangyang closer, savouring the tickle of Yangyang’s hair against his neck. Their hearts beat in tandem. 

That’s when Xiaojun felt something hard press against his hip. 

“Yangyang, you haven’t cum,” Xiaojun said, his face heating up as he glanced a hand past Yangyang’s erect member. He pressed his face against Yangyang’s shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.” 

“No, Xiaojun, you were good. I’m just not a very talented bottom,” Yangyang murmured absent-mindedly, moving his hands through Xiaojun’s hair.

“Bottoming requires talent?” 

Yangyang nodded seriously. “It might be the only thing I’m not good at.” Sick of Yangyang’s cockiness, Xiaojun playfully shoved him. Naturally, they began to bicker like little kids, their flailing limbs wrecking any sense of solemnity between them. In the end, Xiaojun succumbed to Yangyang’s tickling, as he always did. 

Panting from their childish fight, Yangyang hugged Xiaojun’s neck. “You know, you seemed to like being rimmed,” Yangyang said. He blinked rapidly at Xiaojun, imploring him with caricatured charm. “Want to go a step further?”

Even though Yangyang acted cute, Xiaojun saw the predatory look in his eye. He immediately shook his head. “No way.” For good measure, he put a pillow between them, one hunk of memory foam to protect his anal chastity. 

“哥,” Yangyang whined, stretching out his vowels. 

“Calling me 哥 isn’t going to work,” Xiaojun said, folding his arms across his chest. As much as he wanted Yangyang to come, his heart was not ready to receive anal penetration. Or his rectum wasn’t. Either way. He’d already come twice. 

“All the good tops started out as bottoms. Don’t you ever want to get better at topping?”

Xiaojun’s mouth dropped open. “I thought you said I was good!”

Yangyang suppressed a smirk. Xiaojun was good, surprisingly so considering that blowjob, but if he wanted backstage access to ice queen Xiao Dejun, he’d need to sell this act. “Well, sure. But…” Yangyang trailed off, gazing forlornly into the distance, not without taking a surreptitious glance at his poor, erect penis. 

Xiaojun threw up his hands. “There’s got to be some other way. I know I can get you off, somehow. I’ll try blowing you again if you want.” 

Yangyang sniffed delicately and turned his back on Xiaojun. “It’s okay, you don’t have to force yourself. I’ll just go deal with this by myself.” He crawled towards the stairs as if he was about to leave. 

“No, wait!” Xiaojun leaped over and grabbed Yangyang by the waist. “I’ll bottom! I’ll bottom, for fuck’s sake.” He dropped his head against Yangyang’s shoulder, defeated once again by his Yangyang’s charms. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

If Xiaojun could see the shit-eating grin sneaking across Yangyang’s face, he might have changed his mind.

Yangyang smacked Xiaojun on the ass. “Well, get ready, sweetheart.”

Xiaojun felt his soul leave his body. “Call me that again, and you can go jerk off by yourself.” 

“Feisty,” Yangyang licked his lips. He slicked his hand with copious amounts of lube. “Face down.”

Yangyang’s voice was commanding, uncharacteristically stony. Xiaojun wanted to rebel, but he couldn’t help the chills that raced down his spine. Paralyzed by his racing thoughts, Xiaojun sat like a deer in the headlights, staring at Yangyang’s shiny, slicked hand.

Yangyang yanked Xiaojun up by his thighs, one cool, sticky hand plastered against Xiaojun’s leg. Xiaojun yelped as he slid down the bed, his ass dangling in the air. Yangyang’s masterful patience was reaching a limit. He waggled his tongue. “Or do I have to rim you again?” 

To be honest, disobeying didn’t seem like such a bad option. In the haze of his lust, Xiaojun had to remind himself that he still had the tatters of his pride to defend, and he put up a half-hearted struggle against Yangyang’s iron grip, his misty eyes trained on Yangyang’s pink tongue. Yangyang lapped at Xiaojun’s soft cock and watched Xiaojun squirm. 

“You’re asking for it, Dejun.”

Yangyang’s hot breath fanned out against his sensitive hole. Xiaojun felt himself twitch, and he suddenly regretted this whole venture. He could see his half-hard cock bouncing inches away from Yangyang’s face. He suddenly realized how exposed this position was. Xiaojun made a panicked motion to push Yangyang away when Yangyang’s tongue invaded him. Xiaojun’s limbs went limp as Yangyang’s tongue gently expanded his inner walls, and he sagged against the bed, Yangyang’s arms the only thing holding him up. 

Yangyang’s tongue circled his hole before reaching back in, gently stretching out his tight muscles. His hands pulled at Xiaojun’s ass, spreading his further. Xiaojun closed his eyes and dug his nails into his palms. His hands felt like the only part of his body still under his control, that hadn’t been taken over by Yangyang’s skillful tongue and reaching hands. 

“That wasn’t much of a punishment,” Yangyang murmured, pulling away to inspect Xiaojun’s blissed-out face.

“It was,” Xiaojun said, too quick in his denial. 

Yangyang simply raised his eyebrows, before turning a putty-like Xiaojun over onto his front, letting Xiaojun’s face rest on bunched-up sheets. He pulled Xiaojun into a kneeling position and propped a pillow underneath his stomach. “Comfortable?” Yangyang’s voice was so loving, Xiaojun felt like he could stay like this for ages, his face smushed against his comforter, his hole twitching uncontrollably. He was certain he couldn’t cum anymore, but he was willing to give in to Yangyang’s desires.  
Xiaojun hummed. 

“Good boy.” Yangyang yanked Xiaojun’s hips towards him, tilting his ass up. From one exposed position to another, Xiaojun thought. Yangyang gave Xiaojun’s cock a few light strokes with his lubed hand before trailing his finger down his perineum. “I’m going to put a finger in.” He pressed his forehead against Xiaojun’s lower back, kissing Xiaojun’s tailbone as he pushed in. 

Xiaojun reflexively tensed. The foreign sensation didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel the mind-blowing way Yangyang’s tongue had either. Yangyang slowly withdrew, pressing against his tight muscles, making circles against Xiaojun’s inner walls. Xiaojun forced himself to relax. Yangyang’s free hand returned to his front, playing with Xiaojun’s fully erect cock. 

When Yangyang added a second finger, Xiaojun couldn’t hold back a quiet moan of discomfort. Yangang’s fingers twisted inside him, the scissoring motions opening him up, aimlessly expanding. Yangyang kissed up and down his spine and bit down between Xiaojun’s shoulder blades, causing Xiaojun to arch under his touch. The head of Xiaojun’s cock grinded into the sheets, smearing precum onto the white linen. 

This is my bed, thought Xiaojun mournfully. 

“I’m going to add another finger, okay?” 

Xiaojun exhaled softly. He nodded, the tips of his ears burning. He was glad that Yangyang couldn’t see his face. 

Yangyang began to drive his fingers forward insistently, targeting a spot near the front. Xiaojun gritted his teeth against the pain, his muscles spasming around Yangyang’s fingers when Yangyang found a certain point that made Xiaojun see stars. Xiaojun swore and bucked his hips, involuntarily tearing Yangyang’s fingers out of him. 

Yangyang’s voice was far too smug when he said, “Found it.”

Yangyang drove his fingers back into Xiaojun, ripping a moan from Xiaojun’s panting mouth. Yangyang removed his other hand from Xiaojun’s weeping cock to pump his own, matching the rhythm of his persistent fingers. Yangyang appraised the svelte line of Xiaojun’s body. Yangyang kept aiming at that spot, less thrusting than digging his fingers forward, firmly massaging Xiaojun’s prostate. Xiaojun had to bite his sheets to prevent himself from crying out, overwhelmed by the pleasure. 

“Feels good?”

To Yangyang’s delight, Xiaojun slowly nodded. Yangyang kissed Xiaojun’s crimson ear. How cute. 

“I’m at my limit,” he said, lips by Xiaojun’s ear. Yangyang thrust his fingers deep into him, mimicking the sex act. “I want to be inside you.”

Xiaojun turned his head around and glared at him, his eyes red. “Stop asking for every little thing and hurry up.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Yangyang said, slowing the movement of his fingers to an agonizing crawl. “Do you want it or not?”

“God, are we really doing this?” 

“Yes.” Yangyang was resolute. Despite his aching cock, he refused to thrust his fingers back into Xiaojun’s hole. 

Xiaojun knew a losing battle when he saw one. Burying his face in his sheets, he hissed, “Fuck me already, asshole.” 

Without a second’s hesitation, Yangyang slicked a condom over his cock and doused it with lube. His gentle hands traced circles on Xiaojun’s hips as he slowly pushed in. 

The burn of Yangyang inside him brought tears to Xiaojun’s eyes. 

“Relax, Dejun.” Yangyang used his clean hand to card through Xiaojun’s sweaty hair and massaged his scalp. The body beneath him trembled. 

“Yangyang…hurts…” Xiaojun gasped. 

“I know.” Yangyang kissed Xiaojun’s nape. 

Even though Yangyang was bursting at the seams, he patiently nuzzled Xiaojun’s hair as he waited for Xiaojun to acclimate to the feeling. When Yangyang finally started moving, his thrusts were measured, sensual rocking motions against Xiaojun’s prostate. Yangyang’s hips rolled back and forth, his cock barely leaving Xiaojun’s tight heat before pressing forward once again. His hand enveloped Xiaojun’s, and he interlaced their fingers. 

Xiaojun writhed against the sheets. The alien pleasure Xiaojun had felt with rimming returned tenfold, quickly replacing the pain. 

Moved by Yangyang’s passion, Xiaojun mustered up his willpower and said, voice faltering, “Yangyang, I want to kiss you.” 

In one smooth motion, Yangyang lifted him up by the shoulders, pushing up into him from a seated position, his cock reaching deeper inside. Xiaojun turned his head back to meet Yangyang’s lips. 

The doorknob rattled. 

Yangyang and Xiaojun froze. They looked at each other with panicked expressions. Xiaojun was on full display, his penis erect against his abdomen, legs spread wide towards the locked door. His tight hole was stretched smooth, lube slicking the place where he and Yangyang were connected. 

It was Kun. “I know you’re in there, you two. It’s been hours. I need to get my laptop.”

How could Kun be such an idiot? Doors are always locked for a reason. Yangyang groaned internally, hoping Kun would get the hint and piss off when he felt Xiaojun tighten around him. 

Yangyang’s eyes opened wide. Thinking it must have been his imagination, he was going to whisper in Xiaojun’s ear about continuing some other time, when Kun shouted, “You two, don’t pretend I don’t exist.” Xiaojun hole undeniably tightened, gripping Yangyang’s cock with near painful pressure. It hadn’t been a one-off, Yangyang thought. 

Xiaojun felt heat rush to his face, and he bit his lip, too stunned to say a word. He was embarrassed to the point of crying.

Seeing Xiaojun’s long eyelashes lustrous with tears flipped a switch in Yangyang. He shoved upwards roughly, causing Xiaojun to squeak. Yangyang clapped a hand around Xiaojun’s mouth and whispered, “You don’t want Kun hearing us, do you?” 

“Kun哥, Xiaojun is sleeping, so you can’t come in,” Yangyang yelled, doing his best to keep his voice steady. 

Xiaojun whimpered quietly and pawed at Yangyang’s legs, trying to push him away, but Yangyang had an arm firmly locked around his waist. Yangyang continued to thrust up with long, languid strokes, forcing Xiaojun down on his cock. Xiaojun’s walls spasmed again him, clenching uncontrollably. 

It felt like Xiaojun’s entire mind was focused on the throbbing member inside him, the epicentre of his white-hot pleasure. Xiaojun was unable to account for this ecstatic bliss, this absurd arousal that was undercut by his terror of being discovered. His aching dick wept precum, almost painfully hard even though he had been adamant he couldn’t come a third time. Yangyang’s hand over his lips wasn’t enough to cover his moans. Xiaojun licked Yangyang’s palm, and then sucked two of Yangyang’s fingers into his mouth, coating those long digits with slick saliva. Abandoning his pride, he impaled himself on Yangyang to the base, seeking deeper penetration. 

“If he’s sleeping, why are you yelling like that? I’ll be in and out, just let me get my laptop.” Kun sounded impatient. They heard him try the doorknob again, the metal rattling ineffectually. 

Xiaojun whined around Yangyang’s fingers, and Yangyang lost it. 

“Kun, I would really recommend that you come back later,” Yangyang’s ragged voice carried a savage edge that clipped his words short. He sucked on the junction of Xiaojun’s neck and bucked up, driving into Xiaojun’s sweet spot. Xiaojun was powerless against the loud sob that ripped past his throat. He moaned around Yangyang’s fingers, drool running down his chin. 

Silence. 

Yangyang smiled deviously and licked at the tears that overflowed down Xiaojun’s cheeks. Xiaojun looked at him in anger, his pretty eyes shining, but his tongue still wrapped obediently around Yangyang’s fingers. 

“Well, I guess I can always get it later. I’ll go make dinner.” Kun’s voice was a strangled falsetto, and his plastic slippers slapped away at light speed. 

Xiaojun wanted to die. 

He spat out Yangyang’s fingers and whispered furiously at him, “扬扬你别搞我!”

“But you liked it, 哥哥. I could feel you tighten around me,” Yangyang said, nibbling on his earlobe. He pushed Xiaojun facedown onto the bed with one hand on his nape and started pounding into him, each thrust deliberately targeting his prostate. Yangyang’s hands dug into Xiaojun’s hips, driving Xiaojun’s pert ass onto his engorged cock. 

Xiaojun rocked forward with each deep, forceful thrust, and his overstimulated cock dripped onto his sheets. He fisted his hands in the fabric, his knuckles turning white with the pressure of holding on as he weathered each hard stroke against his prostate. 

“Who knew you were so kinky, Xiaojun?” Yangyang brought his lips close to Xiaojun’s ear, his hot breath fanning past his cheek. Yangyang’s hand squeezed the back of his neck, not hard enough to be painful, but enough for Xiaojun to be overcome by the feeling of being owned. Xiaojun could barely speak, his mind scrambled by this intense pleasure that was so different from anything he had ever felt before.

Sensing that Xiaojun was close, Yangyang wrapped a hand around Xiaojun’s cock and pumped, matching the brutal rhythm of his hips. The stimulation was too much for Xiaojun to bear, and he came undone onto his sheets, wailing Yangyang’s name. Yangyang followed him not soon after, panting sweet nothings into Xiaojun’s ear. 

Yangyang flopped down next to Xiaojun, a satisfied grin on his face. He tried to pull Xiaojun into his arms, but Xiaojun refused to move, determined to stay curled up on his bed facedown for the rest of eternity. 

Some things needed to be said, after all. 

With his face muffled in his blankets, Xiaojun mumbled, “I love you, 刘扬扬.” 

“You know, Xiaojun, I haven’t completely forgiven you.”

Xiaojun turned an exhausted head and glared at Yangyang through slanted eyes. “Are you really going to start this with me, while we’re spooning?”

Yangyang nuzzled the back of his neck and buried his face in Xiaojun’s hair. “Mm. You’ll have to think of lots of ways to make it up to me in the future, okay?”

This kid was such a handful, Xiaojun sighed. 

Post-credits:

In the middle of the night, Yangyang startled awake, his loud curse tearing Xiaojun out of slumber. 

“What is it,” Xiaojun grumbled. Xiaojun wrestled out of Yangyang’s arms and turned around to glare at him, his arms crossed against his bare chest. Yangyang was so distracted by the sight of Xiaojun’s mussed hair and pouty lips, he almost forgot about his unpleasant epiphany. Keyword being, almost. 

Yangyang gulped. “We forgot about Kun.”

**Author's Note:**

> 这是我坠入威神v疯狂期写的废物。讲中文的姐妹请帮我翻译。。。铁羊铁🚗是我想给大家的礼物。(事实上是我想看哈哈哈）
> 
> 四郎瞪 is one of Xiaojun's nicknames in fandom, which means "fourth lane gaze." As a rookie, he was sitting fourth from the aisle and fans noticed his penetrating gaze. 铁块 means "piece of steel." He referred to himself as such in an interview - it was super cute, and the fans adopted it. 
> 
> I'd like to say that I love all the WayV kids. I'd also like to apologize for the filth I've created.


End file.
